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HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
Boston and New York 



WITHIN THE GATES 



BY 



/ 



ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 

(£t)e 0toer?i&e $re?£, <£ambri&ge 

1901 



THE L'BRARY OF 

CONGRESS. 
Two Copies Received 

OCT. 24 1901 

COPYRIGHT ENTRY 

CLASSY m± No. 
J- *f I 
COPY B. 



■ft 3 IfZ 



COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS WARD 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



This drama has so departed from the plan of the origi- 
nal story, " The Gates Between," published by me long 
ago, that it is, in fact, a new work, and has therefore re- 
ceived a new title. — E. S. P. W. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 

Doctor Esmerald Thorne, a city physician. 

Helen Thorne, his wife. 

Laddie, their child. (Between four and five years of age.) 

Mrs. Fayth, a patient of the Doctor's, and a friend of Mrs. 

Thome's, an invalid. 
Doctor Gazell, a hospital physician not in harmony with 

Dr. Thorne. 
Dr. Carver, a young surgeon. 
Maggie, a maid. 

A Priest, Nurses, Patients, Servants, People in the 
Street, Spirits, the Angel Azrael. 



WITHIN THE GATES 

ACT L, SCENE I 

A library in a city house. A dining-room opens 
beyond a portiere. The dinner-table is set. The li- 
brary is furnished in red leather and dark wood. 
Books run to the ceiling. The carpet is indeterminate 
in tone. The heavy curtains are of a rich, dark crim- 
son. A window is to be seen. The library is littered 
a little with the signs of feminine occupation. At one 
of the tables sits Mrs. Thorne. She is a young and 
beautiful woman, of stately presence and modest, high- 
bred manner. She is well-dressed — but not over- 
dressed — in a tea-gown such as a lady might wear in 
her own home when guests are not expected. The 
dress is cream-white ; it falls open over a crimson skirt. 
The lamps are shaded with lace of red or of white. 
One with a white shade is on the table by which she 
sits. Her sewing materials are lying about, among 
books and magazines half-cut. She tries to sew upon 
a little boy's lace collar, but throws her work down 
restlessly. Her face wears a troubled expression. 

(She rises and crosses the room ner- 
vously ; goes to the window, and stands 



2 WITHIN THE GATES 

between the long lace curtains, looking out. 
She consults her watch ; speaks.) 

Mrs. Thorke. It is not so very late ! 
Hardly past six o'clock yet. What can be 
the matter with me ? I must not become a 
worrier. A doctor's wife can never afford 
to be that. 

Enter Maggie. 

Maggie. Shall I serve dinner, ma'am? 

Mrs. Thorne. The Doctor has not come, 
Maggie. We must wait — Jane will be care- 
ful not to burn the soup. 

{Rises and looks again restlessly out of 
the window ; calls :) 

Maggie ! 

Maggie. Ma'am ? 

Mrs. Thorne. When you went up to 
light the Doctor's candles, how did Laddie 
seem ? Did Molly say ? 

Maggie. Just the same, she said. He 
does seem sort of miser'ble. [Exit Maggie. 

Mrs. Thorke [takes up a magazine and 
tries, in vain, to read ; sighs, and lays it 



WITHIN THE GATES 3 

down ; takes up the little lace collar and 
tries to sew ; lays that down ; rises). I '11 
run up again and look at the child for 
myself. 

Enter Maggie. 

Maggie. Mrs. Fayth, ma'am. 

Enter Mrs. Fayth {pale, sweet-faced, del- 
icate, with the languorous step of the half- 
cured invalid. She is in carriage dress, 
with a long, dove-colored opera cape — 
rich, but plain in design. She throws off 
the cape at once). 

[Exit Maggie. 

Mrs. Thorne [warmly embracing her 
friend). Why, Mary Fayth ! You f At 
this time of night ! 

Mrs. Fayth. Yes. I — Mary Fayth — 
isn't it wonderful? I haven't been out 
after sundown before for six years. ... Is 
the Doctor in ? 

Mrs. Thorne. He has n't come yet. I 
am waiting for him. We never can tell. 

Mrs. Fayth. Doesn't the dinner get 
cold? 



4 WITHIN THE GATES 

Mrs. Thorne. The dinner is subject to 
chronic bronchitis and acute pneumonia. 

Mrs. Fayth {laughs merrily). Acute 
pneu-mo-nia is good. . . . You were always 
clever. 

Mrs. Thorne. But I don't fret. A 
doctor's wife can never do that. . . . Give 
me your cape, dear. You '11 wait for him. 

Mrs. Fayth. I did want to surprise 
him. He would be so pleased. My husband 
calls me Doctor Thome's miracle. But never 
mind. I can't wait for him. I 'm on my 
way to the Hospital Fair. . . . Think of 
that ! I 'm to be let stay till half -past eight 
o'clock. Fred is to meet me there, and we 're 
to dine at the cafe with the crowd and see 
the tableaux. . . . Think of it ! — like com- 
mon, vulgar, healthy people. Is n't it won- 
derful ? To be half alive ! I have been 
half dead so long ! Kiss me, Helen. 

Mrs. Thorne {anxiously). I hope you 
won't pay for it to-morrow, dear. {Kisses 
her affectionately.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 5 

Mrs, Fayth {cheerily). Oh, I expect to 
be flat to-morrow. But it 's worth it — to go 
somewhere with one's husband . . . after six 
years. I 'm going to the Fifteen Cent Mu- 
seum next — when I get a little farther along 
— some big, noisy, healthy, shabby place. 
Fred has promised to take me. He dotes on 
the gorillas. . . . Well, I only ran in. The 
horses are getting cold. I must go. Give 
my love to the Doctor — Helen ! I 'm going 
to church when I get well. I want to hear 
the Te Deum. . . . It 's a good while since I 
did that. They won't let me. They put it 
off till the last. Fred said I must begin with 
the Hospital Fair and work up through the 
gorillas to re-li-gious dis-si-pa-tion. The 
Doctor says I 'm to get well in a sci-en-ti-fic 
manner ; on the Law of Ev-o-lution. Poor 
dear Doctor ! He does n't care about the 
Te Deum. — Helen, I wish your husband 
believed. He is so good — so kind. He 
ought to be a re-li-gious man. 

Mrs. Thorne {sadly, with almost im- 
perceptible bitterness). He is a doctor. 



6 WITHIN THE GATES 

Mrs. Fayth. He is so great, you see. 
He is almighty to so many miserable people. 
... I can understand that. His mind stops 
there. He is so strong, so powerful ; he 
works the miracles himself. 

Mrs. Thorne. My husband has no time 
to study these questions, Mary. All his 
life is given up to science, you know. I 
thought — when we were first married — I 
could influence him in these ways. But a 
doctor's wife learns better than that. 

Mrs. Fayth. What he needs is to be 
half-dead. Then he would have to believe. 
He is too much alive, poor Doctor. ... It 
is such a joy to be alive, Helen ! I thought 
I must run in and tell you. 

Mrs. Thorne {smiling affectionately). 
I '11 tell him to be sure and see you to-mor- 
row. You '11 need it. 

Mrs. Fayth. Well, Fred can tel-e-phone. 
I dare say I shall be sick enough. Good-by, 
dear — Helen ? What ails you ? You don't 
look right to-night. 



WITHIN THE GATES 7 

Mrs. Thorne [arousing). Laddie does n't 
seem well at all. I can't make Esmerald be- 
lieve that anything ails him. But that 's 
the way, you know. ... I am not allowed 
to be anxious. The mother of a doctor's 
child can never be that. 

Mrs. Fayth [with quick sympathy). Oh, 
I am so sorry ! I know just how you feel — 

Mrs. Thorne. You never had a child, 
Mary. 

Mrs. Fayth. But sick people under- 
stand everything. Oh, we know ! 

Mrs. Thorke. Yes. I suppose you have 
so much time to think. 

Mrs. Fayth. We have so much time to 
feel. {Rises to leave.) 

(Mrs. Thorne puts the opera cape over 
her friend's shoulders.) 

Mrs. Fayth [abruptly). Helen, I was 
thinking to-day about Cleo. I don't often. 

Mrs. Thorne [pityingly). Poor girl ! I 
do, very often. She must have led a cruel 
life with her husband. And she was so 



8 WITHIN THE GATES 

young when he died ! She really hated him 

— I think as much after he was dead as 
when he was alive. 

Mrs. Fayth. She did not hate yours. 

Mrs. Thorke {gravely). She was a pa- 
tient. I have nothing to say. 

Mrs. Fayth. But of course she hardly 
made a secret of it, that she loved the Doc- 
tor — half wrongly, half rightly. 

Mrs. Thorne. Like the woman she was 

— half fiend, half angel — 

Mrs. Fayth [interrupting). There are 
people who still talk about her; they are 
equally divided whether she died of love or 
morphine. It is said she had the opium 
habit. It is three years ago to-day that she 
killed herself. 

Mrs. Thorne. I had forgotten. . . . 
Poor Cleo ! 

Mrs. Fayth. I 've been thinking about 
her all day — I don't know why. She never 
liked me very well — perhaps because I 
did n't love the Doctor ; and so he could do 



WITHIN THE GATES 9 

so much more for me. You know how 
those things go. . . . And you never 
gave her the satisfaction of one hour's 
jealousy ? 

Mrs. Thorne {peacefully). How could 
I? I never had the materials. . . . 
But, as you say, these things are compli- 
cated. We never know where the end of 
the skein is. 

Mrs. Fayth. I will send over to-morrow 
and see how Laddie is. Good-night — good- 
night. 

Mrs. Thorne (kisses her warmly). I 
wish you would stay — I wish you need not 
go. Don't go ! Mary — don't go ! 

\_JEJxit Mrs. Fayth (slowly, with a sweet, 
mysterious smile). 

(Mrs. Thorne relapses into her anxious 
attitude and manner. Moves to the win- 
dow, and looks out again, between the cur- 
tains. While she stands there with her 
bach to the door, suddenly and noisily 
striding in,) 



10 WITHIN THE GATES 

Enter Dr. Thorne. 

Dr. Thorne {at once). Is n't dinner 
ready ? 

Mrs. Thorne {turning delightedly). 
Oh ! At last ! 

Dr. Thorne. Well. You might have 
met me, then. 

Mrs. Thorne. Why, I have been watch- 
ing for you — and listening — till I 'm half 
blind and deaf. I have been to the win- 
dow — 

Dr. Thorne. Don't complain. I hate 
a complaining woman. 

Mrs. Thorne {has advanced towards 
him, and impulsively put up her arms ! 
Drops them at this and turns sadly). I 
did not know I was complaining, Esmerald. 

Dr. Thorne. Most people don't know 
when they are disagreeable. {He does not 
offer to kiss her ; pulls off his overcoat 
nervously.) Is n't dinner ready ? I am 
starved out. 

(Maggie is seen in the dining-room has- 
tily serving dinner.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 11 

Mrs. Thorne (ringing). Maggie had 
orders to put it on as soon as she heard 
your wheels. . . . Yes. There ! You 
poor, hungry fellow ! 

Miter Maggie. 

Maggie. Dinner is served, Mrs. Thorne. 

Dr. Thorne. I must run up and change 
my coat, first — - no, I won't. I have n't 
time. I am driven to death. Come along, 
Helen. (Strides out before her ; then re- 
calls himself from his discourtesy, and 
steps back. Dr. Thorne is a tall, well- 
built, handsome man, of distinguished 
bearing, but with a slight limp ; his face 
is disfigured by a frown, as he looks at 
his wife. He repeats) I am driven to 
death ! I have n't time to call my soul my 
own. 

Mrs. Thorne (archly). I thought you 
hadn't any soul, dear. Or I thought you 
thought you had n't. 

Dr. Thorne (crossly). Soul? Eub- 
bish ! It is more than I can do to manage 



12 WITHIN THE GATES 

bodies. Soul? Stuff! What have you 
got for dinner ? 

(They seat themselves at the table.) 

Mrs. Thorne. You poor boy! You 
poor, tired, hungry fellow ! I hope the 
dinner will please you ? ( Timidly.) 

Dr. Thorne (testily). Keally, I had n't 
time to come at all. I 've got to go again 
in ten minutes. But I supposed you would 
worry if I did n't show myself. It 's a fool- 
ish waste of time. I wish I had n't come. 

Mrs. Thorne (speaking in a low, con- 
trolled, articulate voice). You need not. 
On my account. You need never come 
again. 

Dr. Thorne (irritably). It is easier to 
come than to know you sit here making 
yourself miserable because I don't. 

Mrs. Thorne (gently). Have I ever 
fretted you about coming, Esmerald ? I 
did not know it. 

Dr. Thorne. It would be easier if you 
did fret. I 'd rather you 'd say a thing than 



WITHIN THE GATES 13 

look it. Any man would. . • . This 
soup is burned ! 

Mrs. Thorne. Too bad ! I gave spe- 
cial orders to Jane — that is really too bad. 
Let me send it away. 

Dr. Thorne (excitedly). No, I 've got 
to get down something. Bring on the rest 
— if there is anything fit to eat. I 'm due 
at the Hospital in twenty-two minutes. 
Gazell is behaving like the devil. If I'm 
not to handle him, nobody can. The whole 
staff is afraid of him — everybody but me. 
We sha'n't get the new ward built these two 
years if he carries the day to-night. I 've 
got a consultation at Decker's. The old 
lady is dying. It 's no use dragging a tired 
man out there ; I can't do her any good. 
But they will have it. I 'm at the beck and 
call of every whim. I wish I 'd had time 
to change my boots ! My feet are wet. 
My head aches horribly. I had an enormous 
office — sixty people ; forty here — twenty 
down-town — besides my calls. I 've seen 



14 WITHIN THE GATES 

eighty sick people to-day. I was a fool to 
agree to that noon office hour. — I 've lost 
ten thousand dollars in this panic. Brake 
telephoned me to get down to Stock Street 
to save what I could. I could n't get off. 
. . . I lost a patient this morning — 
that little girl at the Harrohart's. She was 
a poor little scrofulous thing, but they are 
terribly cut up about it. — I wish you 'd 
had a good, clear soup. I hate these opaque 
things. 

Mrs. Thorke. But last time we had 
consomme, you said — 

Dr. Thorne. I said ! I said ! Who 
cares what he says f 

Mrs. Thorke {in a low voice). That 
seems to be quite true. 

Dr. Thorke. What did you say ? Do 
speak louder. I hate to hear women mum- 
ble their words. — I hope you have some 
roast beef; better than the last. You 
must n't let Parsnip cheat you. Quail ? 
There 's no nourishment in quail for a man 



WITHIN THE GATES 15 

in my state — (Pushes away his plate 
crossly.) Well, I suppose I 've got to 
eat something. I was a fool not to dine at 
the club. — The gas leaks. Can't you have 
it attended to? Pudding? No. I see 
enough of spoon food in sick rooms. I 
might have eaten a good, hearty pie. 

Mrs. Thorne. But the last pie we had, 
you said — 

Dr. Thorne (again). I said ! I said ! 
What does it signify what a man says f 
How many times must I say that ? Hurry 
up the coffee. I must swallow it, and go. 
I 've got more than ten men could do. 

Mrs. Thorne (gently, hut with percepti- 
ble dignity). It seems to be more than one 
woman can do — 

Dr. Thorne. What 's that ? Do speak 
so I can hear you. — If you 're going to 
speak at all. 

Mrs. Thorne. I said it seems to be 
more than one woman can do to rest you. 

Dr. Thorne (carelessly). Do ring for 
a decent cup of coffee. I can't drink this. 



16 WITHIN THE GATES 

Mrs. Thorne. Esmerald — 

Dr. Thorne (crossly). Oh, what? I 
can't stop to talk. There ! I 've burned 
my tongue now. If there 's anything I 
can't stand, it's going to a consultation 
with a burned tongue. 

Mrs. Thorne (tenderly). How tired you 
are, Esmerald ! It even gets into your poor 
foot. — You limp more to-night. I was 
only going to say that I am sorry. I can't 
let you go without saying that. 

Dr. Thorne (rising, and walking irri- 
tably through the robms). I can't see that 
that helps it any. I am so tired I don't 
want to be touched. (Mrs. Thome brings 
his overcoat. He repulses her.) Never 
mind my coat. I '11 put it on myself. Tell 
Joe — No. I left the horse standing ; I 
don't want Joe. I suppose Donna is uneasy 
by this time. She won't stand at night — 
She 9 s got to. I '11 get that whim out of 
her. — Now don't look that way ! The 
horse is safe enough. 



WITHIN THE GATES 17 

Mrs. Thorne. I have n't bothered you 
about the horse, have I ? But I don't feel 
— quite — easy. She is such a nervous 
creature, and so — 

Dr. Thorne {imperiously). Don't you 
suppose I know how to drive ? You 're 
always having opinions of your own against 
mine. There ! I must be off. — Where 's 
the boy, Helen ? Where 's Laddie ? 

Mrs. Thorne {gently). Laddie isn't 
just right, somehow, Esmerald. I hated to 
bother you, for you never think it 's any- 
thing. Molly is with him. I 've been a 
little troubled about him. He has cried all 
the afternoon. 

Dr. Thorne. He cries because you cod- 
dle him ! It is all nonsense, Helen. No- 
thing ails the child. I won't encourage this 
sort of thing. I '11 see him when I come 
home. I can't possibly wait — I am driven 
to death — for every little whim. {Rushes 
towards the door, but pauses, irresolute.) 
I suppose I shall have to go up — if you 've 



18 WITHIN THE GATES 

got this fixed idea in your head. 1 7 11 take 
a look at him on the way out. 

Mrs. Thorne {more gently ; without 
reproach, but regarding him steadily). 
Good-by, Esmerald. 

Dr. Thorne. Oh, bother ! — I can't 
stop for fooling, now. 

Mrs. Thorne {with sudden change of 
manner, breaks down, and hides her face 
in her arms. She weeps quietly). He 
has always kissed me good-by — before — 
ever since we have been married. He never, 
never missed before ! 

Re-enter Dr. Thorne. {He holds the 
child in his arms, and strides in im- 
petuously, still limping ; lays Laddie, 
wrapped in a silk robe, upon the sofa. 
Tries to make the child sit up ; but 
the little fellow languidly falls back 
upon the pillows.) 
(Mrs. Thorne moves quickly over, and 
supports the child.) 

Dr. Thorne. Helen, I must have an end 



WITHIN THE GATES 19 

to this nonsense ! Nothing ails Laddie. He 
is only a trifle feverish, with a little tooth- 
ache — possibly there 's a slight cold. The 
child should be out of the nursery. He will 
sleep better for the change. Let him stay 
awhile — and don't make a fool of yourself 
over him. It really is very unpleasant to 
me that you make such a fuss every time he 
is ailing. If you had married a green grocer, 
it might have been pardonable. Pray remem- 
ber that you have married a physician who 
understands his business, and do leave me to 
manage it. . . . There! {Consults his watch.) 
I 'm eight minutes behindhand already, all 
for this senseless anxiety of yours. It 's a 
pity you can't trust me, like other men's 
wives. I wish I had married a woman with 
a little wifely spirit ... or else not married 
at all. 

[Exit Dr. Thorne. {He does not hid 
his wife good-by. At the threshold of 
the door he seems to hesitate, makes 
as if he would turn back, but goes out.) 



20 WITHIN THE GATES 

Mrs. Thorne. Oh-h-h me ! ( Utters one 
long, low cry ; she does not speak any 
words. She releases her hold of Laddie, 
who drops bach sleepily upon the sofa pil- 
low. She seems to forget the child. She 
stands still, in the middle of the library, 
with her face towards the window ; her 
hands are crossed before her, and clenched 
tightly together. A solemn expression 
grows upon her face. Her tears dry upon 
her cheeks. Her eyes widen and darken. 
Her mouth quivers pitifully. Still she does 
not speak. She moves slowly to the win- 
dow, and draws the curtains back. She 
stands there looking out; she shades her 
eyes with her hand. The hand trembles.) 

The Child (cries). Mamma ! Mamma ! 

Mrs. Thorne (does not respond to the 

child. She moans). Esmerald ! — Es — 

mer — aid ! 

End of Scene I. 



WITHIN THE GATES 21 



SCENE II. 

A dwelling street in the city, seen in an almost de- 
serted condition. The time is early evening. The wreck 
of a buggy lies crushed against a curbstone ; the traces 
are broken, the horse having released herself and dis- 
appeared. The wreck lies in shadow, and the pros- 
trate form of a man is but dimly discerned. After a 
few moments of suspense and silence, slowly crawling 
to his feet, 

Arises Dr. Thorne. (He is dressed 
for driving, as when he left home ; his over- 
coat disarranged, muddy, and torn ; his hat 
gone ; his face has a singular pallor, and 
his whole appearance is agitated. As he 
rises, he throws a carriage robe back over 
the spot where he had been lying. He 
speaks.) 

Dr. Thorne. That dastardly brute has 
done it, now ! I '11 sell Donna for this. 
— It will play the mischief with that old 
injury. I shall exchange an interesting 
limp for crutches, now. — Hil-loa ! ( Walks 
to and fro with perfect ease.) The shock 
has acted like a battery on the nerve centres. 



22 WITHIN THE GATES 

Instead of a broken neck I have a cured leg. 
I 'm a lucky fellow — as usual. [Laughs 
lightly ; turns to examine the condition of 
the ruined buggy ; suddenly looks confused, 
and puts his hand to his head.) Curious 
cerebral symptoms I have ! Queer, there is n't 
a crowd roundo They must have missed the 
trail when Donna bolted. She '11 be at the 
stable by this time. — She won't go home. 
Helen won't know. ... I should n't like to 
be the man that had to tell Helen ! . . . I 
must get to her — I must get home as soon 
as I 've been to the Hospital. I 'm afraid I 
was a little short with Helen. I wish — 
(Presses both hands to his temples as if to 
command himself; looks more and more 
bewildered.) I must have been pretty well 
stunned — seems to me there was a collision. 
I ran down somebody. It was a landau 
— we crashed — I saw it overturn — there 
were people in it I knew — patients. . . . 
Who? . . . Who? (Stamps the pavement 
peremptorily, and impatiently strikes his 



WITHIN THE GATES 23 

own head.) Who was it ? — Horrible ! The 
brain cells do not obey me — me! ( Walks 
about frenziedly.) . . . Ach — ch ! It is 
worse to remember than to forget. I have 
it now — the sweetest woman of them all — 
Helen's friend — the gentlest, the most obedi- 
ent, most trustful, the bravest patient I ever 
had — Mrs. Fayth. I saw her face as the car- 
riage went over. . . . She stretched out her 
hands, and said : " Doctor ! " It was Mary 
Fayth. (His face falls into his hands. 
For a moment he sinks down on the wreck of 
the buggy ; but springs up.) Now that ac- 
counts for it. — The crowd are all there. The 
accident was so bad nobody has thought of 
me. She is the victim. / have escaped. 
Dead or alive, she is done for. She never 
could recover from a shock like that. I 
must go and find her. I must find Mrs. 
Fayth. (Starts and hurriedly walks down 
the street, peering everywhere.) 

\_Exit Dr. Thorne. 
(In his absence no person passes the 
street.) 



24 WITHIN THE GATES 

Be-enter Dr. Thorne. 

Strange ! How strange ! I cannot find 

her. I cannot find anything — nor anybody 

that a man would naturally meet under such 

circumstances. Not a trace of the accident 

— yet I 'm as sure of it as I am that Pm 
alive, {Pronounces these words slowly, 
and paces the sidewalk, irresolute.) It all 
came from my being overdue at the Hospi- 
tal. I suppose I did drive Donna pretty 
fast. I wonder if I struck her ? I am al- 
ways in such an infernal hurry — I never 
have had time to live. I am driven to death. 
{He says the last five words, not impa- 
tiently, but with a certain solemn delibera- 
tion.) I must go at once to Mrs. Fayth's 
house. They must have carried Mary there 

— I wish I could spare time to see Helen ! 
- — I '11 go right home as soon as I 've been to 
Fayth's. Odd ! How these brain symptoms 
last. I must have had quite a blow. 1 
don't — I can't — it is mortifying to feel so 
confused. [Exit Dr. Thorne. 



WITHIN THE GATES 25 

(In his absence the street remains de- 
serted.) 

Re-enter Dr. Thorne. 
Enter behind him a tall Woman. (She is 
wrapped in a long ash-colored veil, or 
mantle, beneath which shows a gleam- 
ing gown of flame-color. She follows 
Dr. Thorne silently. She keeps at a 
distance from him. Her step is a glid- 
ing, stealthy one. The Woman does 
not speak.) 
Dr. Thorne. There must be serious 
cerebral congestion. I cannot find the 
street. I cannot find Fayth's house. What 
part of this bewitched town am I in? I 
have lost my way — I, Esmerald Thorne, 
with a clientele of twenty years from end to 
end of the city — I cannot find my way. 
Enter a Suburban, a Loafer, and a 
Priest. (The Woman draws her veil, 
and looks solemnly at Dr. Thorne 
as she passes. Her face is pale and 



26 WITHIN THE GATES 

wretched, but possesses singular 
beauty.) 

\Exit the "Woman. 

(Dr. Thorne does not notice the Woman.) 

(The Loafer leans against a post He 
stares stupidly at the wreck.) 

(The Priest walks slowly, reciting an 
Ave.) 

( The Suburban hurries on, making a wide 
circle to avoid the ruins of the carriage.) 

Dr. Thorne (addressing the Suburban). 
Can you tell me ? — Here ! Hold on a min- 
ute ! Man, can't you answer a civil ques- 
tion ? Will you tell me — 

The Suburban (pays no attention to 
Dr. Thorne, but hurries on. Consults his 
watch ; speaks.) I shall lose my train ! 

[Exit Suburban, running. 

Dr. Thorne (with puzzled impatience^ 
addressing the Loafer). Here ! — You ! 
Why, it 's Jerry ! Just tell me, will you, 
Jerry, where the accident was, and how 
much was the lady hurt ? 



WITHIN THE GATES 27 

(The Loafer stares stupidly at Dr. 
Thorne, but makes no answer.) 

\_Exit Loafer. 

Dr. Thorne (with trouble on his face, 
more gently addresses the Priest, whom he 
slightly touches on the arm). Sir ! — Oh, 
Father Sullivan ! Look here, Father ! I 'm 
ashamed to confess, I have lost my way. 
Would you direct me to the house of the 
well-known merchant, Frederick Fayth ? I 
am due there on an urgent professional er- 
rand, and — I cannot explain the phenome- 
non — but I have lost my way ! 

(The Priest repeats an Ave under his 
breath. He looks Dr. Thorne/^ZZ in the 
face, but does not reply.) 

Dr. Thorne. And will you be so kind 
as to tell me whether you have heard of a 
carriage accident down-town — and how 
much was the lady hurt ? Did you — 

Priest (looks blindly over Dr. Thorne's 
head; mutters). Nay — Nay. I see no- 
thing. (He crosses himself). Ave Sane- 



28 WITHIN THE GATES 

tissima ! Ora pro nobis ! (He lifts his 
arms and, with a troubled and confused 
expression, makes the sign of the cross in 
the air over Dr. Thorne. Priest passes on.) 
Dr. Thorne (gently). Thank you, Fa- 
ther. 

[Exit Priest. 

Dr. Thorne (stands sunken in thought 
for a few moments ; suddenly starts and 
knots his hands together, then separates 
them with the motion of one blind or of 
one feeling his way in the dark). I must 
see Helen ! I must go to Helen ! — Helen ! 
Helen ! 

(Sudden darkness settles. When it 

passes, the wreck of the buggy is removed.) 

Enter Dr. Thorne. ( Walks rapidly and 

perplexedly, still with the manner of a 

man who has lost his way.) 

[Exit. 
Re-enter. 

[Exit. 
Re-enter (speaks). 

I must get home. I will get home. I 



WITHIN THE GATES 29 

will see Helen! {Stops sharply, as if 
smitten by an unseen force ; cannot take 
another step ; contends, as if with an in- 
visible power ; droops, as if vanquished ; 
turns, and retraces his way; his head 
hangs to his breast. He speaks.) What 
thwarts me from my home ? Who con- 
strains me from my wife? {Lifts his face 
angrily to the sky.) Is this hypnotism? 
{Laughs sarcastically.) Am I an infant — 
or a maniac ? It must be anaesthesia pass- 
ing off. Perhaps I was etherized by some 
blank fool after that shock. — The accident ! 
That is it, of course, of course ! It is the 
cerebral concussion — a simple case. . . . 
I should n't like this to get out. I believe 
I'll go into my office — if I can find my 
office — and wait till this passes off. It is 
a perfectly simple case. ( Walks feverishly 
up and down the street, searching for his 
own office ; mutters.) Ever since I yielded 
to that demand for a noon office hour down- 
town for business men — it has crowded me 



30 WITHIN THE GATES 

without mercy. If they had n't been my 
old patients, I would n't have succumbed to 
it. It's just another strand in the whip- 
lash that has driven me to death. Well 
{draws a long breath) — I seem to be out 
of sorts to-night. I shall get over all this 
nonsense when I see Helen. Helen will set 
me right. Helen will make a live man of 
me again. 

End of Scene II. 

SCENE III. 

The interior of a down-town office. Dr. Thorne 
is seen in the consulting room ; the door is closed into 
the reception room. One gas-jet burns over the desk ; 
patient's chair and physician's chair are seen in the 
usual places; the desk is in order for the night; a 
movable telephone, of the kind in use in offices, stands 
upon the desk. 

Dr. Thorne [throws himself heavily 
into his revolving chair). What the devil 
am I here for? {Violently. The light 
grows dim as he says this.) Why in — 



WITHIN THE GATES 31 

why in the name of all the laws of Nature 
cannot I get home ? {After a pause, brok- 
enly.) Well — well ! It 's something to 
be here ; to get out of the street — in out 
of the night — it 's a good deal. I 'd begun 
to understand how outcasts feel — felons, 
apparitions, fugitives. In the name of the 
laws of mystery, thank Heaven for so much ! 
( The light brightens. It reveals his face, 
zohich is haggard and pinched. He pushes 
his case books about, aimlessly. Suddenly 
his hand hits the receiver of the telephone. 
He springs and cries out :) The telephone ! 
The telephone ! I must have gone stark 
mad not to think of it. — See ! I 'm not a 
drinking man, am I ? (Puts his hand to 
his head.) No. I do not drink. Helen 
would not like to have me. — No. And 
I 've been all these hours without telephon- 
ing to Helen. She '11 think I did it on pur- 
pose — poor Helen — because of the words 
I said. If a man could slay the words he 
. . . They harry me — like ghosts. 



32 WITHIN THE GATES 

{Rings the telephone violently.) Central ? 
48.4 — 48.4, I say. Why don't you give 
me 48.4 ? I tell you I'm in a hurry. 48.4 ! 
And be quick with it ! {Rings again.) Why 
in — why don't you attend to your business 
there ? It is Dr. Thorne — Dr. Esmerald 
Thorne. My errand is most urgent. Give 
me my home, and make short work of it. 
48.4 ! Do you hear ? {Rings again.) 

(A man's voice from the Exchange 
comes faintly over the wire, reverberating 
through the transmitter, so as to be audible 
at a distance from the instrument.) Why 
don't you speak ? We cannot make out a 
word you say. 

Dr. Thorne {rings again, wildly). I 
tell you I want my home — 48.4 ! I must 
speak to my wife. Give me 48.4 — Helen ? 
Helen ! 

Voice from the telephone. Stop 
ringing your bell if you can't use your 
tongue. Put your mouth close to the trans- 
mitter. Are you drunk ? Or are you dead ? 



WITHIN THE GATES 33 

Dr. Thokne (still ringing). I will re- 
port you for this. It shall cost you your 
place. 48.4, I say. Give me my house. 
I will not submit to this. Give me 48 .4 ! 
(The telephone ceases to reply.) 
Dr. Thorxe (rises, hangs up the re- 
ceiver, and paces the office tempestuously ; 
speaks). The very forces of Nature are in 
league against me. . . . My own ner- 
vous system — the night — the atmosphere 
— electricity — they are all gone foes to me. 
They are serried like an army between my- 
self and her. Helen will be — Helen will 
suffer — oh, poor girl ! 

( The telephone call bell rings suddenly.) 
Dr. Thorne (leaping to the receiver). 
Who calls ? I am here. Who wants Dr. 
Thorne ? (He snatches the receiver greed- 
ily to his ear ; listens a moment ; cries 
wildly :) Oh, Helen ! Is that you, dear ? 
Speak louder, darling. . . . Yes, I 'm 
here — at my office down-town. I '11 be 
home soon. Don't be frightened — but I 



34 WITHIN THE GATES 

met with a trifling accident. Helen ? Helen ! 
What 's the trouble ? Don't you hear me, 
Helen ? 

Woman's voice from the telephone. 
Is my husband there ? Esmerald ! Are 
you there ? 

Dr. Thorne. Why, Helen ! Don't you 
hear me ? What does ail this cursed tele- 
phone ? Central ! Give me a decent wire. 
My wife can't hear a word I say. . . » 
Helen ? I 'm not at all hurt — only shaken 
up a little. I'll get back just as soon as — 
Helen? Helen! 

Woman's voice from the transmitter. 
Central ? I cannot find my husband at his 
office. Please give me the Hospital. — I 
must communicate with my husband. 

(Voice from the transmitter dies 
away.) 

Dr. Thorne {rings madly). Central, 
you 've cut me off ! You ? ve cut me off 
from my home. Give me 48.4 again „ 
Helen ? — Helen ! Can't you hear me ? 



WITHIN THE GATES 35 

Don't you understand me, Helen? Oh, I 
could bear you — your own dear voice, my 
girl ! I wanted to tell you — I can't wait 
till I see you to say — Helen? She does 
not hear me. — Helen ! 

[The transmitter is silent) 

(Dr. Thorne lays the receiver down. He 
hides his face in his hands.) 
End of Scene III. 



SCENE IV. 

Morning in a business street down-town. Many- 
people are passing, among them the Priest, the Sub- 
urban, and the Loafer. A crowd thickens before 
the bulletin boards of " The Earth," a prominent daily 
newspaper. At the extreme left are the headquarters 
of "The Universe," a rival paper. Not far from 
u The Earth " building can be seen the modest sign 
of the eminent physician : — 



DR. ESMERALD THORNE. 
Office Hour 12-1 o'clock. 



(A door opens within. Dr. Thorne 
appears in the entrance to the corridor.) 



36 WITHIN THE GATES 

Enter Dr. Thokne (upon the sidewalk. 

Standing irresolute, he seems to wince 

from the daylight and the morning 

air ; he mutters). 

Now it is light, I can find my way to 

Helen. (Steps slowly along the sidewalk; 

shades his eyes from the sun. He wears 

no hat, and his pallor has increased. No 

person addresses him.) 

( On the bulletin boards of " The Earth " 
can be seen the following announcement : 

War with the Island of Borneo. 

Borneo Lays Down Her Ultimatum. 

The President has Called for Volunteers. 

Panic in Stock Street. 

Santa Ma Fallen 30 Points Since Yesterday. 

Dissension at the City Hospital. 

Rumors of Accident at the West End.) 

Enter Dr. Gazell (a short, blond, thick- 
set, suave man of middle age) and Dr. 
Carver (a very yowig man ; the latter 
reading a fresh copy of "The Uni- 
verse "). 

Dr. Gazell (with emotion). Shocking ! 



WITHIN THE GATES 37 

Shocking ! I cannot express — I am over- 
come ! 

Dr. Carver [without emotion). Yes. 
It is very sad. You '11 be apt to find these 
things in " The Universe " before " The 
Earth " gets them. I wonder if he — 

Dr. Gazell. No. Never. He was 
above reproach. A hard man to get along 
with — willful, but above reproach. I am 
greatly shocked ! 

Dr. Thorne {stepping out into the 
crowd). Ah, Gazell ! Good-morning. I am 
— I am very glad to see you, Dr. Gazell 
{pathetically). 

(Dr. Gazell continues reading his paper. 
He does not look up.) 

Dr. Thorne {with embarrassment). 
Gazell ! {He moves directly in front of 
the office of « The Earth." At that mo- 
ment a new bulletin flashes in large let- 
ters, over the heads of the crowd, these 
words : — 



38 WITHIN THE GATES 

Rumor Confirmed. 

Shocking Accident ! 

Terrible Tragedy. 

Runaway at the West End. 

Mrs. Frederick Fayth Dangerously Hurt. 

The Eminent and Popular Physician, 

Dr. Esmerald Thorne, 

Killed Instantly.) 

(Dr. Thorne reads, and reels; stares 
about him appealingly.) 

(Murmurs are heard from the crowd.) 
Enter two Office Girls. 

(First Office Girl starts, and points 
to the bulletin.) 

Second Office Girl. Oh ! Oh ! (She 
bursts into tears.) 

Suburban. Too bad ! He was a clever 
fellow. He saved my little boy's life last 
summer. 

Loafer. He took a t'orn out av me eye 
onct and divil a cint did he charrge for 't. 

Priest. Pater Noster in Ccelo — gone 
without absolution, poor soul ! An • attrac- 
tive heretic — merciful to the poor of my 
parish. 



WITHIN THE GATES 39 

Dr. Gazell. He drove too fast a horse. 
And lie drove the horse too fast. I always 
told him so. But I am greatly agitated by 
this ! 

Dr. Carver [reading aloud). Now " The 
Universe " had it already in type : " Dr. 
Thorne was dragged for some distance be- 
fore the horse broke free. He was found 
near the buggy, which was a wreck. The 
robe was over him, and his face was hidden. 
Life was extinct when he was discovered, 
which was not for an unaccountably long 
time. His watch had stopped at five min- 
utes past seven o'clock. He was not im- 
mediately identified. By some unpardon- 
able blunder the body of the distinguished 
and favorite physician was taken to the 
morgue." 

Dr. Gazell. That accounts for it. 

Dr. Carver {reads on), "It was not 
until nearly midnight that the mistake was 
discovered. A message was dispatched to 
the elegant residence of the popular doctor. 



40 WITHIN THE GATES 

Mrs. Thorne is a young and beautiful wo- 
man, on whom, with their only child, an 
infant son, this blow falls with uncommon 
cruelty." 

Dr. Thorne {utters a long, heartrending 
moan. But no person hears the sound. He 
stretches out his hands. The crowd shrinks 
from hut does not see him. Staring at the 
bulletin, he stands apart. He raises his 
clenched right hand in the air ; speaks). It 
is a dastardly He ! It is one of those cursed 
canards manufactured to harass men — and 
— break the hearts of women. God ! — She 
has seen it by this time. Let me pass ! 
Let me go to her ! You may kill her with 
this, but you can't kill me. Gentlemen, 
make way for me ! I am Dr. Thorne ! 

{The crowd pays no attention to this out- 
cry.) 

Enter Newsboy {shrilly piping). 

Newsboy. " Earth ! " " Universe ! " Lat- 
est — 8.30. All about the accident ! Dr. 
Thorne killed instantly — Mrs. Fayth still 
breathin' — " Earth," sir ? Two cents, sir. 



WITHIN THE GATES 41 

(Dr. Thorne clutches the newsboy by the 
arm, and would tear the paper from him. 
Dr. Thorpe's fingers grope over it — 
touch it. He tries several times to obtain 
it. The paper remains in the hands of the 
boy.) 

Enter Brake, the broker. 

(Dr. Thorne staggers against Brake, 
who is reading u The Universe.") 

[Exit the Suburban, consulting his watch. 

Dr. Thorke (more gently ; addresses the 
loafer). Jerry ! Is that you, Jerry ! Tell 
these gentlemen, will you, that I am Dr. 
Thorne ? I should take it — kindly — of 
you, Jerry. 

Loafer (stares ; mutters). Divil a cint 
did he charrge me for 't. 

Dr. Thorne (addresses the broker). Oh, 
Brake ! I am glad to see you ! I could n't 
get down to save my Santa Ma. But that is 
of no consequence. . . . I 've been hurt — 
an accident — and I am confused. I am 
suffering from hallucinations. They have 



42 WITHIN THE GATES 

got beyond my control. I wonder if you 
would n't call a cab for me ? I thought 
Dr. Gazell would take me home in his car- 
riage, — but he didn't seem to hear me 
when I spoke to him. If you '11 call a cab, 
I '11 get home — to my wife. 

[Exeunt Dr. Gazell, Dr. Carver, and 
Brake, without replying. 

(Dr. Thorne watches them with a pite- 
ous expression ; stands back and apart 
from the crowd.) 

End of Act I. 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. 

A small ward — the women's ward — in a hospital ; 
several cots with patients in them are visible. One 
patient is in a wheeled chair. Screens stand by the 
cots. There are plants, pictures, the cheerful features 
of the modern hospital. Two nurses are seen busy 
with patients. 

Enter Dr. Gazell and Dr. Carver. 

Dr. Gazell (seats himself by one of the 
patients ; speaks blandly). And how do 
we find ourselves to-day ? 

Patient (turning her face, on which can 
be seen traces of tears). Bad enough — 
worse. I 've been so upset by — 

Dr. Gazell. Yes, yes. I know. It is 
truly shocking ! 

Dr. Carver (addressing one of the 
nurses). You become your cap to-day. You 



44 WITHIN THE GATES 

have an uncommonly good color — I mean 
to operate on No. 21. 

Nurse. Do you really? We thought 
her improving. She 's nervous to-day — on 
account of Dr. Thorne. 

Dr. Carver. Yes. Thorne had things 
all his own way here, as usual. I mean 
to operate, — if Dr. Gazell can manage 
her. 

Nurse (coquettishly). You are so expert, 
— such an easy surgeon. You don't mind 
it more than a layman would carving a 
Christmas goo — oose. And what would 
you operate for — on No. 21 ? 

Dr. Carver. Appendicitis, of course. 

Nurse. Really? You are so clever on 
diagnosis. Now, I hadn't thought of ap- 
pendicitis — in her case. Do you know — I 
thought it more like pleurisy ? 

Dr. Carver (looks keenly at the nurse 
to discover if she is making game of him ; 
speaks pompously). The nurse, as you 
have been taught in your training-school, 



WITHIN THE GATES 45 

can have no opinions. Now, the physi- 
cian — 

Nurse {demurely). Oh, of course. I 
would n't have you think I 'm presuming to 
set up mine. She might have measles, or 
the grippe, for anything / should know. 

Dr. Carver. Now you speak very pro- 
perly indeed. 

Dr. Gazell (at bedside of No. 21). Is 
the pain more severe on the right ? 

Patient. I did n't say I had any pain — 
now. 

Dr. Gazell (soothingly). Increasing to- 
ward night ? Paroxysms ? Or is it steady ? 

Patient. I said I 'd got over the pain. 
That has all gone. It is the weakness — 
the deadly weakness. 

Dr. Gazell. Just so. That weakness 
is a most significant symptom — I think 
you said it was accompanied by nausea ? 

Patient. No, I did n't. Not a bit. 

Dr. Gazell. Just so. Dr. Carver? 
Here a moment? (To the patient.) I'm 



46 WITHIN THE GATES 

sure we can relieve all that. Just a little 
operation — a very pretty little operation — 
would set you right again in a week or two. 
Dr. Carver (coming to the cotside of 
J¥o. 21 ; speaks eagerly). It is such a 
beautiful operation ! Why, I 've known 
patients beg for it, — it is so beautiful. 

Patient (beginning to cry). Dr. Thorne 
said there was no need of anything of the 
kind. 

Dr. Gazell (stiffening). Dr. Thorne was 
an able man — but eccentric. His profes- 
sional colleagues did not always agree with 
him. 

Enter Dr. Thorne. (He has wasted since 

his last appearance; looks outcast, 

wan, and wretched ; is splashed with 

mud ; still hatless ; stands at the 

lower end of the ward, gazing blindly 

about.) 

Patient No. 21. Dr. Thorne used to say 

that if we had better doctors, we should n't 

need so many surgeons. He said the true 



WITHIN THE GATES 47 

treatment would prevent half the surgery in 
the city. 

(Dr. Thorne starts, and moves towards 
the patient.) 

Dr. Gazell (soothingly). Yes. Just so. 
Dr. Thorne had great confidence in himself. 

Patient (rousing). No more than his 
patients had in him. 

Dr. Carver. Irritable ! Very irritable ! 
A significant symptom, Dr. Gazell. In my 
opinion, this extreme irritability demands an 
operation for appendicitis. 

First Nurse (listening, laughs ; ad- 
dresses Second Nurse). Now, if one could 
only apply that ! Take a cross man, — any 
cross man, — say a brother, or a husband, or 
even a doctor, and if he carried it too far, 
just call on Dr. Carver. Why, it would revo- 
lutionize society. And he is so expert ! He 
does n't mind it any more than carving a 
goo — oose. Yes, sir ! I 'm coming. (De- 
murely obedient ; hurries to Dr. Gazell.) 

(Second Nurse moves to the rear of the 
ward to a patient behind a screen.) 



48 WITHIN THE GATES 

(Dr. Thorne advances slowly ; stands 
in the middle of the ward, unnoticed.) 

Patient No. 21 {louder). I say, when 
a man 's dead is the time to speak for him. 
And I '11 stand up for my dear dead doctor 
as long as I live. 

Voice from another cot. And so would 
I, — and longer, if I got the chance. 

Another voice. He does n't need any- 
body to stand up for him. His deeds do 
follow him. And he rests from his labors. 

(Dr. Thorne smiles bitterly ; stands with 
his face towards the speaker. He knots his 
hands in front of him, and thus advances 
with a motion so slow as to be almost 
stealthy.) 

Voice from another cot. He would 
n't care so much for that. It 's Bible. He 
was not a religious man. But he was as kind 
to me ! ( Weeps.) 

Other voices. And to me ! Oh, yes, 
and to me, — as kind ! 

Patient in the wheeled chair. I 



WITHIN THE GATES 49 

could n't move in my bed when I came here. 
I 'd been so three years. Look what he 's 
done for me. (Sobs.) 

Dr. Thorne (in a low tone). Miss Jes- 
sie ? Don't cry so. You '11 make yourself 
worse. Go back to bed, Jessie, and — see. 
I '11 tell you a secret. Don't tell the others 
just yet. I was n't killed, Jessie. That was 
a newspaper canard. I'm a live man yet. 
See ! Look up, Jessie. Look at me, — 
can't you ? (Pleads.) Won't you, Jessie ? 

Patient in the wheeled chair (stares 
past him at Dr. Gazell and Dr. Carver). 
And to think of the likes of them, — in his 
place ! What ever '11 become of this hospi- 
tal without him ? 

Dr. Thorne (with trembling lip). You 
don't hear me, do you, Jessie? Well — 
well. I must have met with some cerebral 
shock affecting the organs of speech. It is 
a clear case of aphasia. I can't make my- 
self understood. It — it 's hard. Jessie ? 
(Louder.) I can't see things go wrong with 



50 WITHIN THE GATES 

you, — no matter how it is with me. You've 
been in that chair long enough for to-day. 
(Imperiously.) Jessie, go back to bed ! Stop 
crying about me, and go back to your bed. 

(Jessie wavers ; shades her eyes with her 
hands ; stares about her ; slowly turns her 
wheeled chair and moves away.) 

\Exit Jessie. 

Dr. Thorne (moves more naturally and 
rapidly ; stands by the cot of No. 21 ; 
speaks). Good-morning, Mrs. True. I meant 
to have seen you last night. I was — un- 
avoidably detained. I hope you 're not 
worse this morning ? 

Patient (with tears). I 've cried half 
the night. 

Dr. Thorne. That 's a pity. But you 
won't cry any more. I '11 take care of you 
now. 

Patient (looks up wearily ; turns her 
face on her pillow and sobs). 

Dr. Thorne. Clearly aphasia. She does 
not understand a word I say. Dr. Gazell! 
Gazell! Dr. Carver? 



WITHIN THE GATES 51 

(The two physicians murmur together,) 

Dr. Thorne. Gazell? What's that? 
The knife ? For Mrs. True ? Excuse me, 
but I cannot permit it. 

Dr. Carver. It would be such a pretty 
little operation. The students are getting 
restless for something. I told them — 

Dr. Gazell. It is well-defined appendi- 
citis. 

Dr. Thorne. Well-defined appendi — fid- 
dlesticks ! It is nothing but pleurisy. I 
tell you, Gazell, I will not have it ! 

Dr. Gazell (looks around uncomfort- 
ably ; speaks with hesitation). Of course, 
Thorne would not have agreed with us. 

Dr. Thorne (grips Dr. Gazell by the 
arm). I tell you it would be butchery, Ga- 
zell ! What are you thinking of ? Gazell ! 

Dr. Gazell. But he was a very opinion- 
ated man, — everybody knew that. 

(Dr. Thorne drops Dr. Gazell's arm 
and walks away with a gesture of dis- 
tress.) 



52 WITHIN THE GATES 

Second Nurse (to First Nurse ; moves 
out from behind the screen). Very invig- 
orating day ! 

First Nurse (to Second Nurse). Father 
Sullivan 's late with the Sacrament. I hope 
Norah, yonder, won't get ahead of him. 
She 's 'most gone. (Approaching the cot of 
the patient behind the screen.) 

Second Nurse (moves away). Yes. 
She 's been unconscious half an hour. 

Enter Priest. (He advances to offer Ex- 
treme Unction to the dying patient.) 

First Nurse. Lovely morning, Father. 

Dr. Thorne (standing in the middle of 
the ward). They used to call my name 
when I came in. " Oh, there 's the doctor ! " 
" The doctor 's come ! " It ran from cot to 
cot — like light. And everybody used to 
smile. Seems to me some of them blessed 
me. Now — 

(Sobs from the ward.) 

Dr. Thorne (tremidously). My patients ! 
Is n't there one of you who knows me ? 



WITHIN THE GATES 53 

Does n't anyhodj hear me ? Don't cry so ! 
All the symptoms will be worse for it. 

The dying patient. Doctor ? Doctor ? 

Dr. Thorne. That sounds like Norah. 

Priest (recites behind the screen at No- 
rah's bedside the prayer for the passing 
soul). " Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de 
hoc mundo, in nomine Dei Patris omnipo- 
tentis, qui te creavit ; in nomine Jesu Christi 
Filii Dei vivi, qui pro te passus est ; in no- 
mine Spiritus Sancti " — 

Dr. Thorne (softly). Thank you, Father. 
(Stands silently with bowed head.) 

Reenter the patient in the wheeled chair. 

Jessie (happily). I 've had such a lovely 
dream ! I thought Dr. Thorne was here — 
in this ward. Oh ! ( With disappointment.) 

Dr. Thorne. Jessie ! 

Jessie (sadly). It was such a lovely 
dream ! (Droops and turns away.) 

(Dr. Thorne walks apart ; stands drear- 
ily, with downcast eyes.) 

Enter Mrs. Fayth. (She looks pale and 



54: WITHIN THE GATES 

agitated, hut quite happy. She is 
dressed as before, for the street, but 
her head is bare ; is wrapped from 
head to foot in her long, pale, dove- 
colored opera cape. She goes straight 
to Dr. Thorne, and touches him upon 
the arm ; speaks softly.) 
Mrs. Fayth. Doctor ? 
Dr. Thorne (starts). Oh ! Mary 
Fayth ! You ? (He grasps her hand with 
pathetic eagerness.) Oh, I never was so 
glad ! You are the first person — the only 
one — nobody else seemed to know me. I 
might have known you would. Where 's 
Helen ? Is n't she with you ? And you 
were n't hurt at all, were you ? I have been 
— anxious about you. Those cowardly pa- 
pers said — I tried to get right over and 
see you. And, after all, you 're not hurt. 
I thank — (Looks around confusedly.) 
Ah, what shall I thank ? 

Priest. Christum Dominum nostrum. 
Amen. 



WITHIN THE GATES 55 

(Dr. Thorne listens with troubled inter- 
est, like a child learning a hard lesson.) 

Mrs. Fayth {smiling). I can only stay 
a minute. I must get back to my poor 
Fred. 

Dr. Thorke. Don't leave me. 

Mrs. Fayth. Oh, poor doctor! Don't 
you see f The carriage overturned. I was 
badly hurt. I only died an hour ago. 

Dr. Thorne {gasps, and stares at Mrs. 
Fayth. He tries to speak, but can only 
articulate). You died an hour ago ? And 
I? And IF 

Mrs. Fayth {still smiling, with her 
sweet, mysterious smile). Don't take it so 
hard, doctor. I came to ex-plain it to you. 
Why, it 's the most beautiful thing in the 
world ! {Glides away slowly, but smiling 
to the last.) 

Dr. Thorne {throws up his arms in an- 
guish). I am dead ! My God ! I am a 
dead man ! 



56 WITHIN THE GATES 

{His face falls into his hands, his whole 
body collapses slowly, he drops.) 

End of Scene I. 



SCENE II. 

It is night on a street in the West End of the city. 
At the right stands a church, dimly lighted for a choir 
to practice. An anthem on the organ can he heard. 
At the left appears Dr. Thome's house, viewed from 
the outside. It has high stone steps, and lights are 
in the window. One window on the ground floor has 
the curtain raised. The interior of the library can be 
seen through the window, — glimpses of the books, the 
pictures, the table, the lamp with the white lace shade. 
The room is empty. Into it — 

Enter Mrs. Thorne. (She is dressed in 
deep black. Her face is drawn with 
grief Her hands are clasped in front 
of her. She paces the room drearily. 
She is alone. She seats herself by the 
table; tries to read; lays the booh 
down, and rises ; paces the room.) 

\Exit Mrs. Thorne. 



WITHIN THE GATES 57 

Enter Dr. Thorne at the far end of the 
street near the church. {He is dressed 
as before. He is still pale. His man- 
ner has increased in agitation^ but a 
new resolution gives more firmness to 
his wasted countenance. He speaks, 
meditatively.) 
Dr. Thorne. After all, there is another 
life. I really did not think it. (Stops and 
passes his hand oner his eyes; muses.) 
God knows — if there is a God — how it is 
with me. If I have never done anything, or 
been anything, or felt anything that was fit 
to last, I have loved one woman, and her 
only — and thought high thoughts for her, 
and felt great emotions for her, and I could 
forget myself for her sake — and I would 
have had joy to suffer for her, and I 've 
been a better man for love of her. And I 
have loved her, — oh, I have so loved her 
that ten thousand deaths could not murder 
that living love ! (Falters.) And I spoke 
to her — I said to her — like any low and 



58 WITHIN THE GATES 

brutal fellow, any common wife-tormentor 
— I went from her dear presence to this, 
(Brokenly.) . . . And here there is neither 
speech nor language. Neither earth nor 
heaven, nor my love . . . nor my shame 
. . . can give my famished eyes the sight 
of her dear face, — nor my sealed lips the 
power to say, Forgive ! 

(The organ can be heard from the 
church.) 

Dr. Thorne (without noticing the an- 
them). I will not bear it. No — no. I will 
not ! I will go to her ! (Starts to rush up 
the street, whose familiar precincts he 
seems for the first time to recognize.) 
Why, there is my own house ! She can't 
be two rods away. I wonder if a dead man 
can get into his own home ? Helen f (His 
feet lag heavily; he moves like one who is 
wading in water. He makes the motions 
of one who withstands a strong blast or an 
invisible force. He is beaten back. Sud- 
denly he raves.) You are playing with me ! 



WITHIN THE GATES 59 

You torture a miserable man. Who and 
what are you ? Show me what I have to 
flght ? and let me wrestle for my liberty! 
Though I am a ghost, let me wrestle like a 
man ! Let me to my wife ! Give way and 
let me seek her ! {Slowly recedes, as if 
beaten back; bovjs his head. The man 
sobs.) 

Choir from the church (chant). 

" God is a Spirit. 
God is a Spirit. 
And they that worship Him " — 

(Choir breaks off. The organ sounds 
on.) 

(Dr. Thorke seems to listen, but with a 
hind of anger. He slowly recedes, as if 
pushed bach.) 

[Exit Dr. Thorne. 

Enter the Veiled Woman. (She stands 

mutely and wretchedly. Watches the 

house. Wrings her hands, but mahes 

no sound.) 

Enter Mrs. Thorne. ( Within the house ; 



60 WITHIN THE GATES 

can be seen plainly from the street 
through the window. She advances 
and draws the shade still higher ; 
stands close to the window, pressing 
her hands against the sides of her 
eyes ; looks out.) 
{ The Veiled Woman shrinks at the sight 
of Mrs. Thorne.) 

[Exit the Woman. 
Reenter Dr. Thorne at the other end 
of the street. {He speaks shrewdly.) It 
is nearer at this end. And perhaps, if I 
did n't have to get by that church — {Hur- 
ries up opposite the house. Suddenly he 
sees her.) Oh, there 's Helen ! God ! It 
is my wife. I — see — my — wife. {Brok- 
enly.) Dear Helen! {Pushes toward the 
house. At the foot of his own steps he 
falters and falls, still as if beaten back. 
He struggles as a man would struggle for 
his life. The veins stand out on his face 
and on his clinched hands. He cries out.) 
I 'm coming, Helen ! It is only I, my girl. 



WITHIN THE GATES 61 

Don't be frightened, dear ! I wonder would 
she be afraid of me? Perhaps it would 
shock her. Live people and dead people 
don't seem to understand each other. But 
I '11 risk it. Helen would go alone and lie 
down alive in a grave at midnight, and never 
look over her shoulder — if she thought she 
could see me. I know Helen. I'll try 
again. {He pushes and urges his way on- 
ward. But the invisible Power restrains 
him, as before. He stretches his arms to- 
wards the lighted window.) Here I am, 
Helen ! I can't get any farther, somehow. 
. . . Come and open the door for me, my 
girl, — the way you used to do. Won't 
you, Helen ? With the boy in your arms ? 
Perhaps if you opened the door, — I could 
get in. I . . . {After a silence.) I won't 
stay very long. I won't trouble you any, 
Helen. I know I don't belong there any 
more. I won't intrude. ( Wistfully.) Helen ! 
I was cruel to you. I have been ashamed 
of myself. I thought if I could get in long 



62 WITHIN THE GATES 

enough to say — {Reflects.) Mary Fayth 
went back to see Fred. Nothing prevented 
her — 

(Mrs. Thorke throws open the window. 
Leans out and looks about.) 

(Maggie is seen moving about the lighted 
room.) 

(People in the street pass.) 

(Mrs. Thorne hastily shuts the window.) 

Dr. Thorne (piteously). Helen ! 

( The organ sounds from the church.) 

Dr. Thorne (turns suddenly, as if turn- 
ing on an antagonist). What art Thou that 
dost withstand me ? I am a dead and help- 
less man. What wouldst Thou with me ? 
Where gainest Thou thy force upon me? 
Art Thou verily that ancient Myth that men 
were wont to call Almighty God ? (He lifts 
his face to the shy ; holds up his hands as 
if he held up a question or an argument.) 

Choir from the church : — 

" God is a Spirit. 
God is a Spirit. 



WITHIN THE GATES 63 

They that worship Him 

Must worship Him in Spirit " — 

Maggie {opens the door. The lighted 
hall is seen behind). There 's nobody here, 
Mrs. Thorne. 

(Mrs. Thorne, wearing a slight, white 
shawl which falls from her as she moves, 
comes to the open door ; motions Maggie 
away.) 

[Exit Maggie. 

Mrs. Thorne {softly). Esmerald ? He 
might be out there in the dark. Who knows 
what spirits do ? Esmerald ? Would God 
that I had died for you ! Oh, my dear ! 

Dr. Thorne. Helen ! 

Mrs. Thorne. If he were there he would 
answer me if it cost him his living soul. 

Dr. Thorne. Helen, I answer you, for 
I am a living soul. Helen ! {He struggles 
mightily ; crawls up the steps, reaches with 
the tips of his fingers the fringe of her white 
shawl, which has fallen down the steps, and 
lies there unnoticed.) Helen, look down ! 



64 WITHIN THE GATES 

Down. (He clutches the white fringe to 
his lips. He kisses it wildly.) 

(Mrs. Thokne lifts her face to the sky.) 

Dr. Thorne. I can't get any higher, — 
not any nearer, dear. 

Mrs. Thorne. There is no one here. 
( Weeping.) There is nothing here. (She 
shuts the door slowly and reluctantly ; re- 
members the shawl, which she draws in 
with her.) 

(Dr. Thorne clings to the shawl in vain. 
Moaning, he kisses the doorsteps of his 
own home where the garment had touched 
them.) 

End of Scene II. 



SCENE in. 

A narrow defile or pass between high mountains. 
The light is dim. The pass winds irregularly, and is 
often rough, but is always upwards. The scenery is 
unearthly. No sign of life is to be seen. A distant 
storm can be heard. 

Enter Dr. Thorne (slowly, holding a 



WITHIN THE GATES 65 

staff ; he is robed in purple, a flowing 
garment, not unlike a talith or a toga. 
His face, still pale, is heavily lined ; 
but more with anxiety than with re- 
sentment ; its expression is somewhat 
softer. He speaks). 
Dr. Thorne. I wonder what is to be 
done with me next ? I see no particular 
reason for climbing these mountains. There 
seems to be nothing for a dead man to do 
but to obey orders. Well {candidly), I 've 
given my share of them in my time. I sup- 
pose it 's fair enough to turn about and take 
a few — now. {He smiles. After a pause, 
climbing slowly.) I must say I can't call 
this an attractive country — so far. Its 
main features are not genial. 

{The storm increases ; there is thunder 
and cloud.) 

Dr. Thorne {looking about). It seems 
to be in the cyclonic belt. There 's a storm 
of some sort, — I should say two of them 
fighting up in these hills. Hear them close 



66 WITHIN THE GATES 

and clinch ! Like a man's two natures ; 
civil war all the time. And no truce ! 
(Muses.) It 's not a social region, certainly. 
I don't know that I recall, really, ever being 
in a place that was so desolate. There is n't 
so much as a wild animal, nor a bird flying 
over. It reminds me of — what was it ? I 
can't recall the words. It seems to me my 
mother taught them to me when I was a 
little lad. But they have quite gone. Beau- 
tiful literature in that old Book ! It 's a 
good while since I 've dipped into it. I 've 
had too much to do. What was it ? 

" Though I walk — When I walk " — 

(He breaks off; climbs stoutly. The 
storm darkens down. For the first time 
Dr. Thorke's face expresses something 
like alarm. He looks about like a man 
who would call for help, but is too proud 
to do so. He speaks.) 

This is really growing serious. I wish I 
could remember those words. Now I think 



WITHIN THE GATES 67 

of it, we were on our knees. A most un- 
natural posture ! My mother was a sweet 
saint, — rest her pure spirit ! (It lightens 
as he says this.) 

Voices from beyond (softly chanting). 

" And when I 'm lost in deep despair 
Be thou with me. . . . 
Until life's daylight ended be, 
Be thou with me, with me." 

Dr. Thorne (lifts his head to listen). 
There 's a good musical taste in this coun- 
try, at all events. That 's something. What 
were those words ? Ah, I have it. 

" Though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow 
Thou shalt be with me." 

It went in some such way. (Repeats per- 
plexedly.) 

« Thou shalt be with me ? " 

(Sadly.) A beautiful superstition. 

( The storm comes on heavily, with dark- 
ness and lightning. Through the gloom 
his solitary form can be seen manfully 



68 WITHIN THE GATES 

climbing. He exhibits no panic, but his 
evident bewilderment grows upon him. He 
mutters.) 

The desolation of desolations ! I shall be 
glad when I get out of it. What solitude ! 
Of all the people I have known — dead or 
living — there is not one to stay by me. 

Voices from beyond. 

" Be Thou near him ! " 

Enter, on the pass above him, a young 
girl repeating prayers on a rosary. 
She is a plain, unattractive girl, folded 
in a dull gray gown that wraps her 
loosely. Her face is earnest and de- 
vout. 

Dr. Thorne. Why, Norah ! 

Norah (looking back). Oh, it is the 
Doctor. 

Dr. Thorne. I can't overtake you, No- 
rah. 

Norah. And I 've only died the day. 

Dr. Thorne. But you 've got the start 



WITHIN THE GATES 69 

of me, Norah. You are higher up. I am 
glad to see you, Norah [eagerly). But I 
can't reach you. 

Norah (holds down her hand). Come 
up, Doctor ! Come up ! I '11 help you, 
Doctor. 

Dr. Thorne (gratefully). Thank you, 
Norah. 

Norah. It 's to Purrgatory I 'd be goin'. 
But you're the herretic, Doctor. Which 
way do you be goin' ? 

Dr. Thorne (shakes his head). I don't 
know, Norah. You are wiser than I am — 
in this foreign place. 

Norah (holds down her hand). The 
dear Doctor ! Ye were that kind to me, 
Doctor, — at the hospital, and f orninst the 
house where I was worrkin'. It 's niver a 
cint I had to pay yez for yer thruble. If 
I 'd been a pretty lady with a purrse of gold, 
ye never could have put yerself about more 
than ye did for the likes of me. It 's not 
meself that would have died the day if 



70 WITHIN THE GATES 

you 'd been there. Doctor ? Would yez 
mind, if I should — bless you, Doctor ? 
There 's kindness onto kindness, and mercy 
goin' after mercy that ye did me, all hidin' 
in a poor girrl's heart to rise and meet you 
here. I was sick an' ye did visit me. 

Dr. Thorne (melting). When did I ever 
show you all that kindness, Norah ? I don't 
remember — 

Norah. And I don't forget. Take my 
hand, now, Doctor, do. It must be lonesome 
down below there by yersel'. (Touches her 
rosary. Her lips move in prayer.) 

Dr. Thorne (climbing on, grasps No- 
rah's hand). Thank you, Norah (gently). 

(There is a lull in the storm. It grows 
lighter.) 

(Dr. Thorne and the Irish girl climb 
on together silently.) 

(It brightens at the brow of the moun- 
tain. Dim outlines of figures are faintly 
seen at the summit. They waver, and melt 
away.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 71 

Dr. Thorne {gradually loosening his 
hold of Norah's hand, speaks, but not to 
Norah, bitterly). Now stop a moment. 
Where will all this end ? Rebelling, I obey ; 
and obeying, I rebel. I am become what 
we used to call a spirit. And this is what 
it means ! Better might one become a mole- 
cule, for those at least express the Laws of 
the Universe, and do not suffer. I don't 
incline to go any higher. (Drops back.) 
Every step is taking me further away from 
my wife. 

Norah (anxiously). Doctor? Doctor! 
(She climbs on, but looks back, beckoning.) 

Dr. Thorke (pays no attention to No- 
rah. Retraces his steps down the narrow 
path). Come what may, I will not go any 
further from Helen. I '11 perish first, in 
this unearthly place. (He continues to de- 
scend ; stands lost in thought. The storm 
darkens round him, but lightens beyond 
him. At the summit dim outlines can be 
seen again. These brighten faintly .) 



72 WITHIN THE GATES 

(Norah reaches her arms towards them; 
climbs on.) 

Dr. Thorne. It was something to be in 
the same world with Helen. (Muses.) Oh, 
hot in my anger I went from her. And 
cold, indeed, did I return. (Still descend- 
ing.) I will go back. I will get as near 
the old system of things as I can. I will 
not put another span of space between 
myself and Helen. Poor, poor girl ! 

(Dr. Thorne, doggedly descending, does 
not look up.) 

( White -robed forms at the summit 
brighten. Arms are stretched downwards 
through a mist. Hands beckon. One of 
them reaches down and clasps Norah's 
hand ; draws her up.) 

Norah (looking back). Doctor ! 

(Norah vanishes.) 

(The pass grows dark. Figures at the 
summit dim.) 

Enter, from a darkness in the mountains, 
the Woman in flame-color. Her ashen 



WITHIN THE GATES 73 

mantle is now thrown bach, but still 
clings to her. She stands mournfully 
regarding Dr. Thorne. She does not 
address him, but slowly extends her 
arms.) 
(Dr. Thorne does not observe the Wo- 
man. She does not obtrude herself upon 
his attention.) 

[Exit the Woman into the darkness 

whence she came. 
Dr. Thorne {with frowning face de- 
scends ; he murmurs). And a few days 
ago I was troubled because I had lost a few 
thousand dollars in Santa Ma. ... I saved 
up money! {Scornfully.) I would accu- 
mulate a fortune. Oh, the whole of it, ten 
hundred thousand-fold the whole of it, for 
one hour in a dead man's desolated home ! 
{Pushes downwards, suddenly and si- 
lently.) 
Enter Azrael, Angel of Death. {The 
pass blackens. The mountain summit 
is wrapped in darkness.) 



74 WITHIN THE GATES 

(Azrael stands tall and resplendent. 
He is a zohite-robed figure, winged and 
powerful. The light falls only upon Az- 
rael and upon the man. It can be seen 
that this gleam comes from a sword held 
in the hand of the Angel. Without a word 
he lifts the flaming sioord, and with it bars 
the narrow pass from side to side.) 

Dr. Thorne (in a ringing voice). Az- 
rael! 

(Azrael does not reply.) 

Dr. Thorne (under his breath). Azrael, 
Angel of Death ! (Falls back.) 

(The two figures confront each other in 
silence. Dr. Thorne desperately flings 
himself towards the Angel. Without a 
touch he is beaten back. Azrael stands 
immovable. His face groios solemn with 
pity. Dr. Thorne retreats; advances 
again ; raises his staff', and strikes it upon 
the AngeVs sword. The stajff flames up, 
burns, and drops to ashes on the ground.) 

(Dr. Thorne recedes a few steps; shades 



WITHIN THE GATES 75 

his eyes with his hands ; regards the An- 
gel blindly ; wavers, turns. Slowly, with 
bent figure, he weakly reascends the moun- 
tain ; stumbles and falls ; regains his 
footing ; climbs on alone, and now without 
his staff; does not look back.) 

(Azrael stands immovable, with drawn 
sword,) 

Voices from beyond {sing so softly 
that they seem rather to be breathing than 
singing) : — 

" The night is dark, and I am far from home, 

Lead Thou me on. . . . 
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 

The night is gone, 
And with the morn those angel faces smile, 
Which I have loved long since, and lost a while." 

(As they sing the summit mellows 
slowly. No figures appear. At the brow 
of the mountain a single gleam of light 
pierces the gloom. It brightens rather 
than broadens. It has the color of dawn.) 

(Azrael fades away, the sword vanish- 
ing last.) 



76 WITHIN THE GATES 

(Dr. Thorne climbs up, with eyes lifted 
towards the light on the summit, which 
strikes his face and figure.) 

As the Voices sing: — 

"And with the morn those angel faces smile, 
Which I have loved long since, and lost a while." 

End of Act II. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

Paradise: A beautiful country. Trees, flowers, 
shrubs, vines of great luxuriance abound. Brilliant 
birds of unfamiliar plumage can be heard singing in 
the boughs. They dip, blazing, through the air. The 
grass is bright, and like short fur in effect. The 
sheen of water, like the surface of a lake or sea, glim- 
mers beyond. Sails of faint, fair tints, move and 
melt upon the sea. At a distance, upon a hill, are 
outlines of graceful architecture. A narrow brook 
can be seen, with strange shells upon its little banks. 
There are no highways visible. Foot-worn walks and 
paths, trodden through the grass, intersperse the 
landscape. The grass, however, springs afresh be- 
neath the foot, and is not crushed or sear. Annunci- 
ation lilies and scarlet passion-flowers grow in the 
foreground. Bluebells, in clusters, spring beyond. 
Roses are many. Flowers unknown to the botanies 
of earth are frequent ; and among those to which we 
are used, it will be noticed that the blossoms of the 
tropics and of the North countries flourish side by 
side. The whole impression is one of delight and 
beauty. The sky has a misty softness, and the atmos- 
phere is capable of taking on (and takes on) sudden 



78 WITHIN THE GATES 

and subtle changes of effect. It is now seen to be 
early morning, and all the tints of the landscape are 
tender and fresh. 

The scene is populous with bright beings. These 
are seen to differ from the people of this planet chiefly 
in their joyousness of manner, and in a certain high 
expression, of *which it might be said, in a word, that 
the absence of low motive, and the presence of a sense 
of ease and security, are the predominant features. 
These beings wear flowing robes of various tints — 
dove, rose, blue, corn, violet, silver, gold, and pearl. 
Here and there one appears garbed in the color of the 
pale leaf, and, in moving among the foliage, seems 
to have sprung from it. Many spirits are clothed in 
shining white. Happy conversation and gentle laugh- 
ter can be heard. 

Enter Two Children. These play in the 

brook, and gather the shells. They are 

robed in short, childish garments — a 

little frock, a little dress, both white, 

and each clasped by a small, golden 

cross. 

First Child (a boy, four or five years 

old). I never saw such pretty shells in that 

other place we lived. They took me to the 

seaside summers, but there were n't any 

there that began to be so pretty. 



WITHIN THE GATES 79 

Second Child (a girl). I never played 
with any shells before. We lived in a 
street. It was dark and dirty. I never 
saw the sea till I came here. 

First Child. I never saw yon in that 
other place, did I ? 

Second Child. No. You wouldn't 
have played with me there. 

First Child. I like you here — don't I ? 

Second Child. And I like you. I like 
you best of anybody I 've seen in this pretty 
country. 

First Child. Do you like roses? Or 
don't you care for anything but shells ? 

Second Child (adoringly). I like 
roses, if you like roses. 

( They leave the brook, and gather roses, 
pelting each other with them, and laughing 
merrily.) 

(First Child tosses a rose over the 
brook.) 

(Second Child picks a bluebell, and 
puts it to her lips.) 



80 WITHIN THE GATES 

First Child. No. They're not to 
eat. They 're to listen to. See ! I '11 ring 
mine. Hark ! {He rings the bluebell. It 
gives oat a musical tintinnabulation.) Now, 
you hark again. I never heard a bluebell 
ring in that other place, did you ? 

Second Child. I never saw one on our 
street. . . . Oh, mine rings, too ! . . . 
Say ! Are these angels ? I never saw an 
angel either, in our street. 

(The Children wander away and mingle 
with the groups of spirits. They ring the 
bluebells as they go. The tintinnabula- 
tion is drowned in orchestral music, which 
can be heard from a distance. The theme 
is from Beethoven' 's Seventh Symphony. 
Certain of the spirits listen attentively, 
and move towards the music. Certain 
others continue to talk happily, and stir 
among the trees.) 

Enter Dr. Thorne. ( Walks slowly and 
alone. He is robed still in purple, 
with a tunic of white showing at the 



WITHIN THE GATES 81 

throat. He looks pallid and har- 
assed. He stands for a time apart, 
keenly observant of the scene and of 
the people, then sinks in thought. He 
speaks.) 
Dr. Thorne. Children here, too ? 
(He looks wistfully at the two children, 
who are playing together at a distance from 
him. He picks up the rose which the little 
boy had tossed over the brook ; puts it to 
his face ; speaks.) 

Dr. Thorne. What a perfume the 
flowers have in this country ! This seems 
to be a rose, yet it is not a rose. You 
might call it the soul of a rose. Exquisite, 
whatever it is. Some one has dropped this 
one. There is personality clinging to it. 
Curious ! It is as though I clasped a little 
hand when I touch it. 

(He sighs ; walks to and fro thought- 
fully ; does not throw away the rose, but 
cherishes it. Groups of spirits pass and 
repass. Some of them smile at him kindly, 



82 WITHIN THE GATES 

but he does not return the smile. No one 
addresses him.) 

Dr. Thorke. I have done my share of 
traveling in my day, but I must say I never 
was in a land that seems to me so foreign 
as this. Nothing looks natural. I seem to 
have no acquaintances. Apparently nobody 
knows me. I have no introductions. I 
am afraid I have got here without letters 
of credit. (Breaks off.) That was a mis- 
take. I never did such an ignorant thing 
before. I must say it is an attractive coun- 
try, too. Everything shows a high degree 
of civilization, and the beauty of the place 
is unsurpassed. But it does not appeal 
to me. (He shakes his head.) ... I am 
too homesick. ... If Helen were here, I 
could enjoy it. 

(He strolls about without aim or interest. 
Happy spirits pass and repass.) 

Enter a man-spirit of impressive and 
commanding appearance. His cos- 
tume bears a certain vague resemblance 



WITHIN THE GATES 83 

to the dress of a gentleman and scholar 
of the Court of Charles I. of Eng- 
land. A cloak of the tint of the dead 
oak-leaf is clasped across his breast 
by a golden cross. He regards Dr. 
Thorne with a piercing but kindly 
look. He speaks with a fine and 
courtly manner, dating from a by- 
gone age. 
The Man-Spirit. I read thee for a 
stranger here. 

Dr. Thorne {bitterly). A stranger in a 
strange place am I, indeed. You are the 
first inhabitant of this country who has 
troubled himself to speak to me. Thank 
you for your politeness, sir. 

The Man-Spirit. I was commanded. 
These {waving his hand toward the groups 
of spirits) were not. 

Dr. Thorne. You look like a person 
more fitted to give commands than to re- 
ceive them. I fail to understand that word 
— commanded. I am — at least, I was — 



84 WITHIN THE GATES 

a sovereign citizen of America. I was not 
born or trained a subject. 

The Man-Spirit (smiling). And I was 
subject of an English sovereign — in fact, 
an officer of the royal court. 

Dr. Thorne (without smiling). And 
this nation ? Is it an autocratic monarchy 
you have here? What is your political 
system ? 

The Man-Spirit. It is a simple one — 
a pure theocracy. 

Dr. Thorne (indifferently). Oh, theo- 
cracy ? That is a system into which I have 
never studied. I have been a busy man. I 
was a physician — (Abruptly.) Would 
you favor me with your name ? 

The Man-Spirit. I was a healer of the 
sick in my time. My name was — ( Whis- 
pers his name.) 

Dr. Thorne (starts with pleased sur- 
prise). The great Harvey? And you 
discovered the circulation of the blood? 
How wonderful ! Why, I thought you had 



WITHIN THE GATES 85 

been mould and clover these two hundred 
and fifty years ! It never occurred to me 
that you were alive. . . . What an extraor- 
dinary fact ! 

Harvey [turns away wearily). I did 
not think to find your education so limited. 
I understood you to be a man of superior 
powers. 

Dr. Thorne (humbly). Don't leave me, 
Doctor Harvey ! I am the most unhappy 
man in this most happy country. 

Harvey (slowly). Then you did not 
bring with you the materials of happiness. 
What had you ? What were your posses- 
sions in the life yonder ? 

Dr. Thorne (solemnly, but still bitterly). 
Love, happiness, home, health, prosperity, 
fame, wealth, ambition. None of them did 
I bring with me. I have lost them all upon 
the way. 

Harvey. Was there by chance nothing 
else? 

Dr. Thorne. Nothing more, unless you 
count a little incidental usefulness. 



86 WITHIN THE GATES 

Harvey. Plainly, you are not in a nor- 
mal condition. 

Dr. Thorne {hastily). I am perfectly 
well. 

Harvey. You are sick of soul. You 
are not in health of spirit. You are out of 
harmony with your atmosphere. Do you 
wish me to take the case ? 

Dr. Thorne. Take the case, Doctor 
Harvey. Cure me of my nostalgia. Show 
me how to become a citizen of this foreign 
land. 

Harvey. You know what it means to 
be a patient. 

Dr. Thorne {grimly). I can think of 
no worse fate ; but I '11 make the best of it. 

Harvey {smiling kindly). I will under- 
take the case. At evening inquire your 
way to my dwelling. {Moves away ; re- 
turns ; hesitates ; lingers; speaks impul- 
sively.) Concerning the latest attainments 
in science on the planet Earth — they have 
the keenest interest for me. You have so 



WITHIN THE GATES 87 

many advantages — facilities that we never 
had. {He sighs wistfully.) I am told that 
your therapeutics are really wonderful. And 
the advances in surgery? Did you find 
them as beautiful as they are said to be ? 

Miter a newly arrived woman-spirit. She 
is still pale, but has a happy expres- 
sion. She recognizes Dr. Thorne ; 
cries eagerly. 

Woman-Spirit. Doctor! Doctor Thorne ! 

Harvey. Here comes some of your inci- 
dental usefulness. That is a good symptom. 
{He moves away, still smiling.) 

\Exit Harvey. 

Dr. Thorne. Why, Mrs. True ! {Grasps 
her hand joyfully.) You are the first per- 
son I have seen — the first one I knew ! 
But {reflecting) what has happened to you ? 
How did you get here ? 

Mrs. True. I died yesterday. ... I 
knew I should see you, Doctor. {Calmly.) 
I counted on that. 

Dr. Thorne {starting bach). Did they 



88 WITHIN THE GATES 

— you don't mean to say they really oper- 
ated on you ? You were convalescent ! 

Mrs. True {laughing outright). Yes, 
in a week after you were killed. Dr. Car- 
ver vivisected guinea-pigs all that week to 
keep in practice. I died under the knife. 
... I wish you 'd seen their faces ! 

Dr. Thorne {eagerly). What did they 
find — anything to justify the butchery ? 

Mrs. True. Of course not. Didn't 
you say there was n't ? 

Dr. Thorne {gratefully). You always 
were a loyal patient — better than I deserved. 

Mrs. True. You always were a kind 
doctor — better than I deserved. 

Dr. Thorne. And they slaughtered 
you in my hospital ! 

Mrs. True {hurrying on). Have you 
seen my husband ? Do you know where 
my mother is ? I lost a baby twenty years 
ago. I want to see the little thing. And 
oh ? when can I see — ? 

{She breaks off, with a devout expression, 



WITHIN THE GATES 89 

and moves away ; joins the upper group 
of spirits. Two of these can be seen to 
meet and embrace her, and lead her on.) 

[ Vanish Mrs. True. 

Enter Jerry, the loafer, hurriedly and 
stumbling. His robe is of dull blue, 
something in the fashion of a smock- 
froch, or butcher's blouse. 

Jerry {staring about him stupidly, and 
with a kind of social embarrassment, as 
if he had been suddenly introduced into 
a drawing-room). Div-niver a cint in me 
pocket, and me hoofm' it in this quaer coun- 
three. {Scratches his head, and mutters 
unintelligibly.) ... I wondher where the 
. . . sinsible saints I 'm at. 

Dr. Thorne {steps forward; speaks). 
Why, Jerry ! How are you, Jerry ? {Holds 
out his hand heartily.) 

Jerry {staring). Sinsible saints, and 
silly sinners ! Doctor Thorne ? . . . Why, 
I thought you was dead. Hilloa, Doctor ! 
{Grasps the doctor's hand, and shakes it 



90 WITHIN THE GATES 

violently. Then meditatively.) Ye took a 
t'orn out av me eye onct, and div-niver a cint 
did ye charrge for 't. 

Dr. Thorne. What are you doing here, 
Jerry ? How did you get here ? 

Jerry. I was knocked down by a blame 
bicycle underneat' a murdherin' trolley car. 
Nixt I know I don't know nothing an' now, 
behold me, I 'm let loose loafin' in this quaer 
counthree. 

Dr. Thorne. Not drunk, were you, 
Jerry ? 

Jerry (shaking his head gravely). I 
shwore off, Doctor. I shwore off t'ree years 
ago. Me little gurrl she give me no repose 
till I shwore off. . . . She died jist av the 
hospittle, did me little gurrl. . . . Say, Doc- 
tor, do ye know what ? s the thramp laws in 
this counthree? 

Enter Norah hastily. 

Norah. Doctor — Doctor Thorne ? Have 
you seen — oh, there he is ! There 's me 
father ! Why, Father, Father dear ! (Ca- 
resses Jerry affectionately.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 91 

Jerry. Och ! wisha, wisha ! Norah, me 
darlint ! {Returns her caresses tenderly.) 
What luck for the likes of us arrivin' emi- 
grants thegither in this agra-able counthree ! 

Norah {puts her arm in his). Come 
yonder wid me, Father. {Draws him 
away.) 

Jerry {looks back over his shoulder at 
Dr. Thorne). Is it to confession we do be 
goin', Norah ? — the wan av us arrivin' be 
way of a murdherin' doctor, and the wan be 
way av a murdherin' trolley ! I 'm thinking 
sir, it 's niver a cint to choose bechune. 

[Exeunt Jerry and Norah. 

Dr. Thorne {watches their departure 
drearily ; turns, and walks feebly towards 
the brook ; speaks). Now I think of it, I 
have not tasted food or drink since I have 
been in this place. I believe I am downright 
faint. 

{Drinks water from the brook in the 
palm of his hand ; sinks beneath the low 
boughs of a tree on thick moss. His head 



92 WITHIN THE GATES 

falls upon his arm. From a distance, and 
from a height, slowly moving downwards, 
over the beautiful landscape, robed in cream 
white, and unseen by Dr. Thorne, 

Enter Mrs. Fayth. 
As she approaches, it can be seen that her 
robe also is clasped across the breast by a 
little golden cross.) 

Spirits beyokd (softly chant the Te 
Deum). 

" We praise Thee, O God: we acknowledge Thee to be 
the Lord" — 

(Midway of the landscape, and playing 
merrily,) 

Enter the Two Children. 

First Child (running to Mrs. Fayth). 
Oh, here I am ! (He clasps her hand ; 
clings to her affectionately.) 

Mrs. Fayth (to Second Child). Run 
yonder and play, Maidie. 

(Second Child obeys prettily, and joins 
the spirits above. Mrs. Fayth and the 
First Child move slowly to the front of the 
landscape.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 93 

The Child. See that poor man under 
the tree ! I think he 's a hungry man — 
don't you ? 

(He breaks away from Mrs. Fayth, and 
runs to Dr. Thorne ; examines the ex- 
hausted man attentively, bending forward 
with his hands on his little knees, Mrs. 
Fayth advances slowly, with her mysteri- 
ous smile ; she does not speak,) 

The Child (touches Dr. Thorne timidly ; 
after a silence speaks, ceremoniously). 
Would you like a peach, or do you like 
plums instead ? I '11 pick you one. 

Dr. Thorne (arousing). Who spoke 
to me? Oh, it is a child. (Sinks back 
feebly.) 

(The Child gathers some fruit from the 
trees, and brings water from the brook in 
the cup of an annunciation lily, which holds 
the liquid perfectly ; offers the food and 
drink to the exhausted man. Mrs. Fayth, 
still unseen by Dr. Thorne, stands quite 
near, nodding and smiling at The Child. 



94 WITHIN THE GATES 

The Child looks to her for encouragement 
and direction.) 

Dr. Thorne (reviving). Thank you, my 
little man. (Leans on his elbow, and gazes 
steadfastly at The Child ; rises to a sitting 
posture.) 

The Child (creeps nearer to Dr. Thorne, 
and, after a moment's hesitation, throws his 
little length full on the moss at the man's 
feet, and scrutinizes him seriously, putting 
his chin into his hand as he does so ; speaks 
sympathetically). Do you feel better now ? 

Dr. Thorne. Much better. You're a 
thoughtful little fellow. 

The Child. Our breakfasts grow all 
cooked here. This is a nice country. 

Dr. Thorne (still gazing steadfastly at 
The Child). Where is your mother, my 
lad? 

The Child. I don't know. I lost her 
on the way, somewhere. 

Dr. Thorke. And your father ? What 
has become of your father ? 



WITHIN THE GATES 95 

The Child. Oh, he's dead. He got 
dead before I came here. 

Mrs. Fayth (moves within Dr. Thorne's 
range of vision ; speaks quietly). Good- 
morning, Doctor. (Smiles brightly.) 

Dr. Thorne (springs to his feet ; cries 
out). Mary Fayth ! I thought you had 
forgotten me ! I have — needed you. 

(The Child rises ; leans up against Dr. 
Thorne's knee confidingly.) 

Mrs. Fayth. I have often needed you, 
Doctor. And you never failed me once. 

Dr. Thorke (impetuously). I thought 
you would have come before. I looked for 
you — 

Mrs. Fayth. As I have often looked for 
you. But I was not commanded to meet 
you — till this very minute. 

Dr. Thorne. Commanded? Com- 
manded? There is that singular phrase 
again. Have you seen Helen? (Quickly.) 

Mrs. Fayth (shakes her head). Not yet. 

Dr. Thorne. Have you seen your hus- 
band ? Did they let you go to Fred t 



96 WITHIN THE GATES 

Mrs. Fayth (contentedly). Oh, many 
times. 

The Child (interrupting). He doesn't 
kiss me ! (Puts up his lips in a grieved, 
babyish fashion.) 

Mrs. Fayth (very quietly). Doctor, don't 
hurt that child's feelings. He 's yours. 

Dr. Thorne (gasping). I don't under- 
stand you ! 

Mrs. Fayth. I have had the care of him 
since he came here. He 's kept me busy, I 
can tell you. I am to give him over to you 
now. . . . See how he 's grown ! No won- 
der you did n't know him. 

Dr. Thorne (in great agitation). Did 
Laddie die? 

Mrs. Fayth (solemnly). Yes, Laddie 
died. 

Dr. Thorne. Did something really ail 
him that night — that most miserable night ? 
. . . Oh, poor Helen ! Poor, poor Helen ! 
(His face falls into his hands. His frame 
shakes with soundless, tearless sobs.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 97 

Laddie [creeps into his lap; lays his 
head on his father's neck). Hilloa, Papa ! 
(Pats his father on the cheek.) 

[Exit Mrs. Fayth silently, with emo- 
tion. 

Dr. Thorne (raises his head, showing 
his stormy face. Clasps the child, hesitat- 
ingly at first, then passionately ; holds him 
off at arm's length; scans him closely ; 
draws him back; kisses his little hands, 
then his face ; clasps him again). My little 
son ! Papa's little boy ! My son ! My 
little son ! (Smiles naturally for the first 
time since he died ; then with sudden re- 
collection, he cries out.) Oh, what will 
your poor mother do without you ? 

Laddie. You homesick, Papa ? 

Dr. Thorne. My little son! (Caresses 
the child with a touching timidity, broken 
by bursts of wild affection. The child re- 
sponds warmly, laughing for joy.) 

End of Scene I. 



98 WITHIN THE GATES 

SCENE II. 

Dull daylight falls upon a wide and desolate expanse. 
This has the appearance of a desert — unbroken and 
arid. The horizon is low and heavy with cloud, and 
is defined by a tossing sea-line against which no sail 
appears. In the distance are cliffs, fissured by dark 
cuts, but these are far away, and the foreground is 
flat like sand or ashes, or it might be corrugated like 
slag. There is no vegetation visible, and no sign of 
organized life. 

Enter Dr. Thorne. (Hepaces the sands, 
mournfully gazing about him at the 
lonely scenery. He murmurs, then 
raises his voice rhythmically, like one 
who quotes from an uncertain mem- 
ory.) 

Dr. Thorne. 

" A life as hollow as the echo in a cave 
Hid in the heart of an unpeopled world." 

Where did I get that ? Oh, I remember. 
I had not thought of it for years. That 
woman used to quote it to me. She was 
the most consistent infidel I ever knew. She 
shied at nothing; took the consequences, 



WITHIN THE GATES 99 

both living and dying. ... A shocking 
death, though ! I suppose the boy is all 
right with Mrs. Fayth and that little chum 
of his. If it had n't been for that discus- 
sion with Harvey I should n't have left him. 
Wishing seems to be doing, in this singular 
state of existence. A man makes a simple 
astronomical inquiry about a planet, and 
forthwith he is in the planet. Kemarkable ! 
{Breaks off ; continues.) How magnificent 
Helen was about that affair. If she had 
doubted me — but she never did. She was 
superb. 

Enter an Evil Spirit. Her garments 
are of flame color. Her hair has the 
same tint. On her forehead blazes a 
single scarlet star. Her appearance 
is queenly and confident. As she re- 
veals her face, it is seen to be that of 
the woman whose wraith has followed 
Dr. Thorne at intervals ever si?ice 
the hour of his death. Her robe, 

which is opaque, reveals her bare 
LofC. 



100 WITHIN THE GATES 

arms and feet, but covers her shoul- 
ders and bosom with a certain mod- 
esty, which is felt at once to be not 
wholly natural to the woman. Each 
footprint that she makes upon the 
sand is marked by a small jet of 
flame, which flares after she has 
passed, and dies down quickly. Dr. 
Thorne stares at the woman in evi- 
dent and not well-pleased perplexity. 
The Woman (speaks). So ? Am I for- 
gotten on first principles ? It is some years 
since we had the pleasure of meeting. 

Dr. Thorne (coldly). I begin to recog- 
nize you, Madam. 

Cleo. You did not know it, but I have 
given you several other opportunities to do 
so since you died. 

Dr. Thorne. I should think that quite 
possible — and characteristic. 

Cleo (wincing). Your tongue has not 
lost its edge ! I 'm afraid they have not 
made a hopeful convert of you in yonder 



WITHIN THE GATES 101 

pious country. . . . Confess, you 're bored 
past endurance with the whole thing ? (She 
draws a little nearer to him, but is so 
adroit as not to touch him. She gives him 
only her eyes, and these embrace him out- 
right.) 

Dr. Thorne (regarding her steadily). 
Did I ever choose you for a confidante? 
(He steps back.) 

Cleo (persistently). Come, don't be 
cross ! Tell me, then, why have you fled 
the first circles of celestial society — to mope 
out here alone ? Oh, you can't deceive me. 
I understand — I always understood you 
better than any other woman living. (In a 
low tone.) Your whole nature is in antag- 
onism with the very basis of existence in 
the state you're plunged into. What's 
death ? Nothing but a footstep. You 've 
taken it. But you 're the man you were. 
. . . Pouf ! That 's death. (Snaps her 
fingers.) I 'd wager a waltz and a kiss that 
you are ennuye to madness over there. . . . 



102 WITHIN THE GATES 

Admit it? {Tenderly.) Admit it! {Im- 
periously.) 

Dr. Thorne {uneasily). I don't profess 
to be thoroughly acclimated. But I assure 
you I did not come here to sulk. On the 
contrary, I was absorbingly interested in 
a scientific discussion with a distinguished 
man. It was an astronomical point. I 
came here to verify it. I return at once. 
{Moves away.) 

Cleo. Don't be in such a blatant hurry ! 
It's not polite. {Pouting.) I've studied 
a little astronomy myself of late. . . . Come ! 
I can converse about planets — if you will. 
Was it Neptune or Venus you undertook to 
investigate ? 

Dr. Thorne {not without interest). I 
contended that it was Neptune — before I 
came. 

Cleo. And now ? 

Dr. Thorne {gloomily gazing at her). 
I am inclined to think it is Venus. 

(Cleo laughs softly.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 103 

(Dr. Thorne does not smile.) 

Cleo (abruptly). Esmerald Thorne, do 
you know what has happened ? You are in 
an uninhabited world — with me. You are 
in a dead world, burnt to ashes, burnt to 
slag and lava by its own fires. You are 
alone in it — alone with me. . . . (In a 
changed voice.) And I meant you should 
be. Oh, I Ve dreamed of this for years. 
I 've held my breath for it, perished for it. 
. . . Now, here we are — we two outcasts 
from the religious idea — we who always 
rebelled against it, by the very bone and 
tissue of our being. . . . We two (ten- 
derly) alone, at last. (She advances to- 
wards him, and for the first time touches 
him, gently laying her hand upon his 
shoulder.) 

Dr. Thorne (not rudely, but positively, 
removes her hand, stepping bach quickly, 
so that her arm falls heavily by her side). 
Woman ! Woman, what are you ? A spirit 
damned, or a spirit deluded ? . . . I con- 



104 WITHIN THE GATES 

f ess I never knew. And I don't know any 
better now. 

Cleo {more modestly lifts his hand to 
her cheek ; speaks gently). Do you know 
any better now ? 

Dr. Thorne (withdrawing his hand). 
My wife always said you were half angel, 
half the other thing. She pitied you, I 
think. I confess I never did, very much. 

Cleo (wretchedly). I never asked for 
the pity of Helen Thorne ! 

Dr. Thorne (firmly). You might well 
receive it, Madam. It would not harm you 
any. 

Cleo (suddenly). Oh, everybody knew 
you were an irreproachable husband. A 
blameless physician, of course. But we 
have changed all that. You are quite free 
now — as free as I am, for that matter. . . . 

Dr. Thorne (nobly). Yes ; I am free, 
as you say. I am free to mourn my wife, 
and love her . . . and await her presence 
. . . which has a value to me that I do not 
... I cannot discuss — with you. 



WITHIN THE GATES 105 

Cleo {rebuffed, but gentle and sad). I 
beg your pardon, Dr. Thorne. 

Dr. Thorne (takes a few steps nearer 
her). And I yours ... if I have wronged 
you. 

Cleo (softly). You feel so sure of her, 
then ? Helen is so attractive ! These spir- 
itual women always are — up to a certain 
point. . . . Life is a long wait, brutally 
tedious. You know as well as I do how 
many — Now, there is Dr. Gazell. A very 
consolable widower. 

Dr. Thorne (proudly). Oh, that was a 
blunt stroke. Gazell f If Gazell were a 
dog by which my wife might track her way 
to me through the mystery of death . . . 
she might have some use for him . . . 
hardly otherwise. I gave you credit for 
some wit, Cleo. 

Cleo. I own the illustration was defec- 
tive. But there are a plenty better. There 
are gentler men than you. For my part, I 
don't mind your attacks of the devil. I 



106 WITHIN THE GATES 

never did. I 'd take your cruelty to have 
your tenderness — any day. But Mrs. 
Thorne is sensitive to kindness. She likes 
the even disposition, the patient, model man. 
After all, there are a good many of them. 

Dr. Thorne {lifting his head). I am 
not afraid. 

Cleo (turning away). And you ? She 
is a young woman. It may be years . . . 

Dr. Thorne (coldly). You will have to 
excuse me. I left some one. ... I may 
be missed. I have ties which even you 
would respect, Madam. I must return 
whence I came. (He moves away.) 

(Cleo hides her face in her hands ; is 
heard to weep.) 

Dr. Thorne (steps back). Do you want 
my pity? 

Cleo (murmurs). Alone — in a desert 
world — we two — at last. Oh, you don't 
know the alphabet of happiness ! You 
have everything to learn . . . from me. 
And we shall never be like this again ! 



WITHIN THE GATES 107 

Dr. Thorne {frankly). I hope not. 

Cleo {suddenly starting, paces the 
ashes ; throws her arms above her head). 
I always said you had a Nero in you. . . . 
Oh, I understood you — / / But you . . . 
It never occurred to you, I suppose, that 
you died on my very day? I had been 
dead three years that night. 

Dr. Thorne {more gently). What did 
you do it for, Cleo ? You know I warned 
you about that habit. You know I took 
the laudanum away from you. 

Cleo. But you could not cork up the 
Limited Express — could you ? 

Dr. Thorne. It was a dreadful death ! 
Tell me, how do you fare ? Where do you 
live ? Do you suffer ? What is your lot ? 

Cleo {with sudden reserve, and not 
without dignity) We suicides have our own 
fate. We bear it. We do not reveal it. 

Dr. Thorne {uncomfortably). Well — 
I must bid you good-morning. 

Cleo {savagely). At least, I gained some- 



108 WITHIN THE GATES 

thing — if I lose all. Of course, it never 
dawned on you that this was all my scheme? 
Dr. Thorne (in dismay). Your scheme f 
Cleo (past control, raves). Oh, I had 
watched my chance for years. I knew you 
— your mad moods, your black temper. . . . 
Yourself slew yourself, Esmerald Thorne. 
Your own weakness gave me my opportu- 
nity. I waited for my moment. I sat in 
the buggy beside you. ... I sometimes 
did that when your evil had you. (I 
couldn't get there when you were good, 
you know.) I tried to take the reins. / 
tried to get the whip — I could not do it. 
I meant to hit the horse — my arm was 
held. (There are always so many of these 
holy busybodies about — angels and mes- 
sengers of sanctity — to interfere with one !) 
Oh, then I sprang out — over the wheel 
into the street. You didn't see me, but 
Donna did. When she shied I clung to 
her bit. And then she bolted. ... It was 
a very simple thing. 



WITHIN THE GATES 109 

(Dr. Thorne recoiling slowly, an ex- 
pression of cold horror chills his features.) 

Cleo (still raving). Yes, I've mur- 
dered you — if you will — and Mary Fayth 
besides. And I 've broken Helen's heart. 
Do you suppose that counts ? Who counts ? 
Nobody on earth, or in heaven, or in hell. 
I've got you away from your wife. . . . 
And in earth, or in heaven, or in hell, I '11 
have you yet. . . . 

Dr. Thorne (throwing out his hands; 
holds her off with evidences of unbearable 
repulsion; speaks with difficulty). And 
I pitied you a moment since. Now I cannot 
scorn you. It is too fine a word. 

Cleo (more calmly). I can abide my 
time. 

Enter Laddie, running rapidly. 

Laddie. Papa, Papa ! Oh, I missed you, 
Papa! 

Cleo (starting). I did not know the 
child was dead ! (Looks disconcerted.) 

Dr. Thorne (catches the child, and holds 



110 WITHIN THE GATES 

him to his heart ; speaks). No. You only 
knew you left him fatherless. ( With much 
agitation, continues.) How did you get 
here, Laddie ? How did you find the way ? 
Papa had n't forgotten his little boy. I was 
coming right back to you, my son. 

Laddie {mysteriously ; looking about). 
A man with wings brought me. We flowed 
over. . . . He is waiting out there to take 
us back. (Observing Cleo, Laddie slips 
down to the ground, and backs up against 
his father's knees ; points at the woman.) 
Papa, I don't like that lady. 

Dr. Thorne (cruelly). My son, I cannot 
deny that I respect your taste. (Clasps the 
boy to his heart again ; then puts him down 
once more, and, with a fine motion, holds 
the child at arm's-length between himself 
and the woman.) 

Cleo (averting her face). I perceive the 
importance of the obstacle. I admit . . . 
that to love a man who is the father of 
another woman's child — 



WITHIN THE GATES 111 

Db. Thorne {interrupting). And who 
loves the mother of his child — 

(Cleo sobs.) 

Dr. Thorne. Come, Laddie. (He does 
not glance at the woman again.) 

[Exeunt Dr. Thorne and Laddie. 

Cleo (yearning after him; stretches out 
her arms, but does not follow ; calls mourn- 
fully). Oh, if you would come back a min- 
ute — only a minute ! ... In heaven, or 
earth, or hell, I 'd never ask emything of you 
again. A minute, a minute ! 

(Dr. Thorne does not return, and does 

not reply. Cleo is left alone in the dead 

world. She falls flat upon the slag and 

ashes.) 

End of Scene II. 

SCENE III. 

Picturesquely visible among the trees of a grove 
appears a small, rustic cottage, curiously interwoven 
of bark, vines, boughs, leaves, and flowers — a build- 
ing which seems to have grown from the conditions 
and the colors of the grove. The sea and the sails 



112 WITHIN THE GATES 

show beyond, through the trees. In the distant per- 
spective can be seen the city on the hill ; in the inter- 
vale, the foliage, flowers, fields, as before. 

The hour approaches sunset. A deep rich glow 
mellows and melts the outlines of every object. 

(Spirits pass and repass in the distance.) 

Enter Dr. Thorne and Harvey,, convers- 
ing in low tones. 

Enter Norah and Jerry. 

Jerry. The brim of the avenin' to yez, 
Doctor ! Oeh ! but this is a f oine counthree 
now. 

Norah (happily). Me father is getting 
acquainted here. 

Jerry. I 'm about to discover where the 
. . . angels ... I 'm at. 

Dr. Thorne (smiling). You 've got 
ahead of me then, Jerry. 

[Exeunt Norah and Jerry. 

Dr. Thorne (to Harvey). And why, for 
instance, was I directed or allowed to take 
that astronomical tour before I had investi- 
gated my immediate surroundings ? 

Harvey. A patient may ask questions. 



WITHIN THE GATES 113 

In your experience, did you always answer 
them? 

Enter Laddie {running after his father, 
whose hand he hurries to catch and 
clasp). 

Dr. Thorne (pointing to the architecture 
beyond). And those public buildings yonder 
— what do you call them ? 

Harvey. Those are our institutions of 
education and of mercy. They are a great 
pleasure to us. We have our temples, col- 
leges, music halls, libraries, schools of sci- 
ence, hospitals, galleries of art, as a matter 
of course. What did you suppose we did 
with our intellects and our leisure ? 

Dr. Thorne. I never supposed anything 
on the subject. I never thought about it. 

Harvey. Precisely. You are very ig- 
norant — for a man of your gifts. Now, 
our hospitals — 

Dr. Thorne. Pray do not mock me, 
Doctor Harvey. If you had & hospital, 
you could find me something to do. The 



114 WITHIN THE GATES 

humiliating idleness of this place crushes me. 
I seem to be of no more use here than a par- 
alytic patient was in my own charity ward 
at home. I am become of no more social 
importance than the janitor or the steward 
used to be. I am of no consequence. I am not 
in demand. No person desires my services. 
The canker of idleness eats upon me. Here, 
in this world of spirits, I am an unscientific, 
useless fellow. If you have anything what- 
ever in the shape of a hospital, I beg you to 
find me employment in it. At least, I could 
keep the temperature charts, if I am not to 
be trusted with any cases. 

Harvey (smiling sadly). Your cure 
proceeds but slowly, my patient. I did not 
think you were a dull man. Must you be 
taught the elements? Our sick are not of 
the body, but are sick of soul. Our patients 
are chiefly from among the newly arrived 
who are at odds with the spirit of the place ; 
hence, they suffer discomfort. Can you ad- 
minister holiness to a will and heart diseased ? 



WITHIN THE GATES 115 

(Dr. Thorne shakes his head; bows it 
in bitter silence. He stands lost in thought. 
As he does so, sunset deepens to twilight 
on the land. Laddie drops his father's 
hand ; plays among the annunciation lilies. 
Harvey, with a courtly salute, retires. He 
does not speak further to Dr.Thorne.) 

[Exit Harvey. 

Laddie (breaks one of the tall lily-stalks 
— gently, for a boy. As he does so, the 
cup opens, and a little white bird flies out, 
hangs poised in the air a moment). Oh, 
the beautiful ! (Catches the bird, which he 
handles tenderly.) Papa ! Papa ! I went 
to pick a lily, and I picked a bird ! Oh, 
Papa, what a pretty country ! 

Dr.Thorne (smiling in spite of himself). 
Come here, my lad. (Caresses the child 
with pathetic gratitude.) If it were not for 
you, little man — (Bows his face on the 
child's head.) 

(The twilight changes slowly to moon- 
light.) 



116 WITHIN THE GATES 

Laddie (restlessly). I must go find 
Maidie and show her my white bird. They 
did n't grow in her street* 

Dr. Thorne (anxiously). Don't go far, 
my child. You might lose your way. 

Laddie (with a peal of laughter). We 
never lose our way in this nice country. 

[Exit Laddie. 

(Dr. Thorne paces the path desolately ; 
does not speak. As the moonlight brightens, 
groups of spirits stroll among the fields 
and trees. These walk often two by two. 
They are, and yet are not, like earthly 
lovers. They murmur softly, and express 
delight to be together ; and some of them 
go hand in hand, or with arms intertwined. 
But a beautiful reserve pervades their 
behavior. Faintly from beyond arise the 
strains of the Serenade of Schubert's, played 
with extreme softness and refinement, but 
with a depth of emotion which carries the 
heart before it. Dr. Thorne listens to the 
music. The sails quiver on the distant 



WITHIN THE GATES 117 

water, and faint figures can he seen moving 

on the beach. The passion flowers salute 

each other. The great Serenade plays on.) 

Enter Mrs. Fayth. {Her smiling face 

is grave, or even a little sad. She is 

moved by the music, and seems to sway 

towards it. Dr. Thorne holds out 

his hand to her. Mrs. Fayth extends 

her own, confidingly. The two stand 

listening to the music, like comrades 

bereft of other ties ; on her face rests 

a frank, affectionate expression ; on 

his a desolate leaning towards the 

nearest sympathy. They glance at 

the spirits who are strolling two by 

two through the celestial evening. The 

music is suspended.) 

Dr. Thorne (moodily). This foreign 

country would be lonelier without you, Mary 

Fayth. 

Mrs. Fayth (frankly). Of course it 
would! ... It is a lovely thing that we 
died together. ... It has been a comfort to 
me, Doctor. 



118 WITHIN THE GATES 

Dr. Thorne. And to me. . . . Helen 
would be pleased. . . . Helen might like to 
have it so, I 've thought ... if she thinks 
of me at all. 

Mrs. Fayth {quickly). She thinks of 
nothing but you ... all the time. 

Dr. Thorne [eagerly). How do you 
know? Have you been there? Can you 
see Helen ? 

Mrs. Fayth {mysteriously smiling). 
Don't ask me ! . . . 

Dr. Thorne {imperiously). When was 
it ? How did you get there ? How did she 
look ? — Is she well ? — Did she look very 
wretched ? Were her lips pale ? Or only 
her cheeks ? Does she weep much ? Can 
she sleep ? — Is she living quite alone ? — 
Oh, how does she bear it ? {He trips upon 
his words, and stops abruptly.) 

{A strain from the Serenade breathes, 
and sighs away.) 

Mrs. Fayth {gently but evasively). My 
poor friend ! 



WITHIN THE GATES 119 

(Dr. Thqrne and Mrs. Fayth unclasp 
hands, and stand side by side, silently in 
the moonlight. A certain remoteness over- 
takes their manner. Each is drowned in 
thought in which the other has no share. 
Hie Serenade is heard again. Mrs. Fayth, 
with a mute, sweet gesture of farewell, 
glides gravely away. Dr. Thorne does 
not seek to detain her.) 

{Exit Mrs. Fayth. 
{The Serenade plays on steadily.) 
Dr. Thorne {puts his hands to his ears, 
as if to shut out the music, which falls very 
faintly as he speaks). Between herself 
and me the awful gates of death have shut. 
To pass them — though I would die again 
to do it — to pass them for one hour, for 
one moment, for love's sake, for grief's sake 
— or for pity's own — I am forbidden. 
{Breaks off.) . . . Her forgiveness ! Her 
forgiveness ! The longing for it gnaws 
upon me. . . . Oh, her unfathomable ten- 
derness — passing the tenderness of women ! 



120 WITHIN THE GATES 

— It would lean out and take me back to 
itself, as her white arms took me to her 
heart — when I came home — after a hard 
day's work — tired out. . . . Helen ! Helen ! 

{The music strengthens as he ceases to 
speak; then faints again.) 

Dr. Thorne (moans). For very long- 
ing for her, I would fain forget her. . . . 
No ! No ! No ! (Starts.) Never would 
I forget her ! To all eternity would I think 
of her and suffer, if I must, because I think 
of her. . . . I . . . love her ... so. 

(The Serenade ceases slowly, and sighs 
away.) 

(Dr. Thorne stands with the moonlight 
on his face. It is rapt, and carries a cer- 
tain majesty.) 

(Spirits pass. Some of them glance at 
him, with wonder and respect. No one 
addresses him. He stands like a statue 
of strong and noble solitude. He does not 
perceive the presence of any spirit.) 

Enter The Child. (Runs to his father. 
Springs into his arms.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 121 

The Child. Lonesome, Papa? I will 
comfort you. 

Dr. Thorne (clasps the boy, who seems 
half-overcome with sleepiness. Lays him 
gently on the grass). Go to sleep, my 
child. It is growing late. (Laddie drops 
asleep.) 

Dr. Thorne (continues to speak, for his 
emotion bears him on). I did not expect 
to live when I was dead. I lived — I died 

— and yet I live. I did not think that love 
would live when breath was gone. I loved 

— I blasphemed love — I breathed my last 

— and still I love. If this be true — any- 
thing may be true — (breaks off). God ! 
It may be years before I can see her face 

— twenty years — thirty — (groaning) — 
Whence came the love of man and woman, 

that it should outlive the laws of Nature, and 
defy dissolution, and outlast the body, and 
curse or bless the spirit ? If love can live, 
anything can live. Since this is — anything 
may be — (Falters ; glances about ; finds 



122 WITHIN THE GATES 

himself quite alone with the sleeping child ; 
lifts his eyes to the sky, and then his hands ; 
stands irresolute. Then slowly, reluc- 
tantly, still standing manfully upright, 
with a touching embarrassment.) 

Dr. Thorne (prays). Almighty God! 
— if there be a God Almighty. Reveal thy- 
self to my immortal soul ! — if I have a soul 
immortal. 

(The moonlight fades into a dark mid- 
night. The figure of Dr. Thorne disap- 
pears in it.) 

(Dawn comes on subtly, but at once, for 
the nights and days of Paradise are not 
governed by the laws of earth, and day 
breaks splendidly over the heavenly world.) 

Enter the Two Children (playing with 
flowers, and tasting fruit). 

Laddie. How did you like coasting 
down that waterfall on rainbows ? 

Maidie. I want that butterfly — with 
fire on it. 



WITHIN THE GATES 123 

Laddie. Don't be stupid, because you 're 
dead ! That is a flower. (Picks a flower 
in the shape of a butterfly with jeweled 
'wings ; hands it to the girl.) No, it won't 
fly. It is n't grown up yet. 

Maidie. Shall I fly when I 'm grown 
up? I've got wings, too. (Shows her 
feet j on the Keels of which a tiny pair of 
wings appear.) 

Laddie (jealously). I did n't know you 
had them. That 's why you can jump over 
things and get ahead of me. 

Enter Dr. Thoknte and Mrs. Fayth. 

Mrs. Fayth. Doctor, I don't know what 
ails me. Perhaps it 's a symptom — a moral 
symptom — but I can't help thinking of 
Cleo. I wonder — 

Dr. Thorne (with reserve). I do not 
care to speak of the woman. 

Mrs. Fayth. You are right. But I did 
not mean to be wrong. (I think it must 
have been a symptom.) It 's the first time 
I 've felt nervous since I died. I beg your 
pardon. 



124 WITHIN THE GATES 

Laddie {running to meet them). Papa ! 
Maidie 's got wings on her feet. Why don't 
/ have some ? Papa ! Papa ! Come into 
your new house. It grew up out of the 
woods — like — like acorns. 

Dr. Thorne (addressing Mrs. Fayth, 
looking towards the cottage). It is a shel- 
ter for the child, at all events. Quite in 
accordance with my present social position 
in this place — a mere cottage — but it 
makes him a home, poor little fellow ! 

Mrs. Fayth. It 's just what Helen 
would like. She hates palaces. 

Dr. Thorne (starts as if stabbed; makes 
no reply). 

Laddie (suddenly). Oh, Papa, Mrs. 
Fayth 's got wings on her feet, too. Her 
dress covers them up. I like her better 
than I did that lady you were so cross to. 

Mrs. Fayth (laughing). I am so well ! 
— oh, so well ! I am a-shamed to be so 
happy ! I walk on air. I float on clouds. 
I move on waves. All nature seems to be 



WITHIN THE GATES 125 

under my feet, and her glory in my heart. 
. . . Poor Doctor ! (Breaks off and looks 
at him with quick sympathy.) And yet I 
tru-ly think you im-prove in spirits. You 
don't look armed to the teeth, all the time 
— now. 

Dr. Thorke (smiles cheerfully). A man 
must respect law, whatever state he is in. I 
would conform to the customs of this place, 
so far as I can. I would do this for the 
boy's sake, at least. I don't wish to be a 
disgrace to him in this system of things. 

Mrs. Fayth. Does Doctor Harvey treat 
you by scien-ti-fic ev-olu-tion ? That 's a 
man's way. It 's a pretty slow one. 

Laddie (insistently). Papa, she has got 
wings on her feet. 

Mrs. Fayth (blushing). Go away and 
play, children. 

(The children run to the cottage. The 
little girl bounds before, with a light, fly- 
ing motion. They play in the cottage at 
" keeping house," running in and out.) 



126 WITHIN THE GATES 

{Suddenly a change takes place upon 
the landscape. Its colors soften and melt. 
Flying tints, like light broken through 
many prisms, float upon the white flowers, 
rest upon the annunciation lilies, and deli- 
cately touch the white robe of Mrs. Fayth. 
In fact, the whole atmosphere takes on the 
appearance of a vast rainbow. Music 
from the temple sounds clearly.) 

Voices (can be heard singing) : — 

" Thou that takest away the 
Sins of the world!" 

Mrs. Fayth (starts with a listening, de- 
vout expression). Do you hear that ? . . . 
Oh, watch, Doctor ! Watch for what will 
happen ! 

(Spirits can be seen suddenly moving 
from all directions. They hurry, and ex- 
hibit signs of joyful excitement. The sing- 
ing continues ; repeats : — 

" Thou that takest away the 
Sins of the world ! ") 

(Now over the brilliant landscape falls 



WITHIN THE GATES 127 

a long, sharp, strange shadow. It is seen to 
be the shadow of a mighty cross, which, if 
raised upright, would seem to reach from 
earth to heaven. The children run back 
from the cottage.) 

Laddie, Papa ! who is worship ? Is it 
a kind of game ? Papa, what is Lord ? Is 
it people's mother ? What is it for ? 

Dr. Thorne (with embarrassment). 
Alas, my boy, your father is not a learned 
man. 

Laddie (imperiously). Teach me that 
pretty song ! I cannot sing it. All the 
other children can — 

Voices (chanting) : — 

" Thou givest, 
Thou givest, 
Eternal life ! " 

Dr. Thorne (sadly). My son, I cannot 
sing it, either. 

Laddie (with reproach, and with a cer- 
tain dignity). Father, I wish you were a 
learned man. ( Walks away from his fa- 



128 WITHIN THE GATES 

ther ; goes up the path. The little girl 
follows him.) 

{The evidences of public excitement in- 
crease visibly. From every part of the 
country spirits can be seen moving, with 
signs of acute pleasure. Some hasten to- 
wards the Temple ; others gather in groups 
in the roads and paths ; all present a rev- 
erent but joyful aspect.) 

Mrs. Fayth {gliding away). I cannot 
lose a moment. {Beckons to Dr. Thorne 
as she moves out of the grove and up the 
path. Calls.) Doctor ! Doctor ! 

Dr. Thorne {shakes his head). I do 
not understand. 

(Mrs. Fayth remains still full in sight, 
standing as if to watch a pageant or to see 
the prominent figure of a procession.) 

(Laddie runs on beyond her, watching 
eagerly ; shades his eyes with his little 
hand.) 

(Maidie flits along with him.) 

(Dr. Thorne stands quite alone. He, 



WITHIN THE GATES 129 

too, shades his eyes with his hand, and 
scans the horizon and the foreground 
closely.) 

(The shadow of the great cross falls 
upon him where he stands.) 

(It can now be seen that the happy people 
beyond give evidence of greeting some one 
who is passing by them. Some weep for 
joy ; others laugh for rapture. Some 
stretch their arms out as if in ecstasy. 
Some throw themselves on the ground in 
humility. Some seem to be entreating a 
benediction. But the figure of Him who 
passes by them remains invisible. The 
excitement now increases, and extends 
along the group of spirits until it reaches 
those in the foreground. Here can now be 
seen and recognized some old patients of 
Dr. Thorne's — Mrs. True, Norah, and 
Jerry.) 

(These wear the golden cross upon the 
breast. Harvey enters unnoticed, and 
mingles with the crowd. He stands be- 



130 WITHIN THE GATES 

hind Mrs. Fayth, who remains rapt and 
mute, full in the light She has forgotten 
Dr. Thorne.) 

(Dr. Thorne watches the scene with pa- 
thetic perplexity. He does not speak.) 

{The chanting continues, and the strain 
swells louder.) 



dolce. 




r r 

Thou that tak-est a - way the sins of the 



mm 



J J J 



_-& Sr d. 



^ 



J J 



£ 



m 



i&HI 



fc=fc=fc 

i — m — •- 



world 1 And gi vest, and giv-est e - ter - nal life ! 



m 



fc=2 



* 



— S-rf 2 - P-r^ n 



*=* 



P=t 



f 



(iVbw ^e Invisible Figure makes the 
impression of having reached the nearer 
groups.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 131 

(Norah/ alls upon her knees.) 

(Jerry salutes respectfully, as if he re- 
cognized a dear and honored employer 
'whom he wished to serve and please.) 

(Mrs. True reaches out her arms with 
reverent longing.) 

(Maij)ie kisses her little hands to the 
Unseen.) 

(Harvey stands devoutly with bowed 
head.) 

(Mrs. Payth holds out both hands lov- 
ingly. Then she sinks to the ground upon 
her knees and makes the delicate motion 
of one who puts to her lips the edge of the 
robe of the Unseen Passer. Her whole 
expression is rapturous.) 

(Laddie, breaking away from his elders, 
now boldly steps out into the path. He 
looks up; shades his eyes, as if from a 
brilliance ; then confidingly puts out his 
hand, as if he jjlaced it in an Unseen 
Hand, and walks along, smiling like a 
child who is led by One 'whom he trusts 
and loves.) 



132 WITHIN THE GATES 

Dr. Thorne (in distress). I see no- 
thing ! — No one ! I am blind — blind ! 
(Chanting.) 

" Thou that takest away 
The sins of the world ! " . . . 

(Dr. Thorne covers his face. The 
music ceases. The air grows dimmer than 
twilight. But there is no moon, nor is it 
dark. The groups in the foreground move 
away in quiet happiness, like those who 
have had their heart's wish granted.) 

(Harvey, Mrs. True, Norah, Jerry, 
and Maidie mingle with the other spirits.) 

(Mrs. Fayth rises from her knees ; melts 
slowly in the dusk.) 

(Laddie runs into the grove, and disap- 
pears in the gloom. He acts as if looking 
for some one.) 

Dr. Thorne (remains alone. He paces 
the grove, irresolute — then suddenly turns 
in the direction whence the Invisible had 
come ; walks uncertainly up the path ; 
searches, as if for signs of the Passer ; 



WITHIN THE GATES 133 

examines the grass, the shrubbery ; touches 
the flowers, to see if they had bent beneath 
His feet; stoops ; examines the pathway 
reverently ; speaks in a low tone). The 
footprint ! I have found the footprint ! 
There was One passing. And He stepped 
here. But I was blind ! (Hesitates ; lifts 
his face to the sky ; drops it to his breast ; 
murmurs inarticulately. Then slowly — 
as if half his nature battled with the other 
half and every fibre of his being yielded 
hard — he drops upon his knees. He re- 
mains silent in this posture.) 

(From the depth of the grove behind Dr. 
Thorne's cottage,) 

Enter Cleo stealthily. (She watches 
Dr. Thorke with an expression in 
which love, fear, reproach, and as- 
tonishment contend. She makes no 
sign, nor in any way is her presence 
revealed to Dr. Thorne. Taking a 
few steps forward, she touches the 
shadow of one arm of the mighty 
cross. Cleo retreats in confusion.) 



134 WITHIN THE GATES 

Enter The Child {running down the 
path). Papa ! Papa ! {Points up the 
path. Beckons to his father. Points 
ecstatically.) Look, look, Papa! 
(Dr. Thorne arises to his full height ; 
looks where The Child points.) 
{Slowly and solemnly,) 
Enter Jesus the Christ. {Our Lord 
appears as a majestic figure, melting 
of outline, divine of mien, with arms 
outstretched in benediction.) 
(Cleo at sight of the Sacred Figure wrings 
her hands in anguish, and makes as if she 
would flee ; but remains gazing at the Vi- 
sion, as if compelled by forces unknown to 
her. As the Vision draws nearer, Cleo 
drops upon her face. Her long hair covers 
her. All her contours blur into the in- 
creasing shadow. The scene is now quite 
dark, except, for the light which falls from 
the Person of Our Lord. This shall fully 
reveal The Man, who falls at the feet of 
the Vision, and The Child, who stands 



WITHIN THE GATES 135 

entranced, with his little arms around his 
father's neck,) 

Dr. Thorne (lifts his hands raptur- 
ously). I was blind — But, now, I see ! 
(Accepts and remains in the attitude of 
worship as manfully as he had refused it) 

(The Sacred Figure stirs, as if to meet 
the kneeling man ; slowly dims, melts, and 
fades; vanishes.) 

End of Scene III. 



SCENE IV. 

In the same perspective as Scene III. is the Hea- 
venly City on the Hill. Thronging spirits move to 
and fro. 

The distance is full of radiance and of happy social 
life. In the foreground is seen a dim and desolate 
place. It is cavernous and mountainous. Its extreme 
edge yawns over a black space, like a gulf or pit, or 
it might be the mouth of an underground river. Here 
and there is a stark, dead tree. A narrow footpath 
winds among the crags. The path turns a sharp 
corner between boulders ; and the fair contrast of a 
sunny country smiles beyond it. Rosebushes in full 
bloom peer above the top of the rocks. The annunci- 



136 WITHIN THE GATES 

ation lily is still prominent among the flowers. No 
sign of life appears in the mountainous foreground. 

Suddenly, silently, and swiftly, moving from the 
sunny land, around the sharp turn in the pathway, 
feet and face set toward the cavernous region, 

Enter Azrael, Angel of Death. (The 
Angel is immovable of manner. But 
an obvious tenderness wars with the 
solemnity of his expression. He looks 
neither to the right nor to the left, but 
glides over the rough path steadily ; 
his robe, which is of dull, white gauze, 
conceals his feet ; his wings are 
folded ; he carries no flaming sword, 
nor any weapon.) 

(After a moment's interval, following 
The Angel quickly,) 

Enter Dr. Thorne (his robe is much 
paler, but still of a purplish tint. It 
is now clasped by the golden cross. 
He cries aloud). Azrael ! 

Echo (from the caverns). Azrael ! 

(Azrael makes no reply. Moves on 
steadily.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 137 

Dr. Thorne (in a lower voice). Azrael, 
Angel of Death ! 

(Azrael turns his head, but without 
pausing.) 

Dr. Thorite. In the name of Him who 
strove with thee, and conquered thee — 
whither goest thou, Azrael ? 

(Azrael pauses. He looks over his 
folded wing at the man; regards him 
steadily ; does not speak ; moves on again. 
Dr. Thorne utters an inarticulate excla- 
mation. He follows the Angel. Halfway 
dovm the path he stops, perplexed. His 
expression is anxious. Azrael moves on. 
He does not again look back ; glides to the 
edge of the ravine. The scene darkens. 
The Angel does not pause, but can be seen 
to cross the gulf fleetly. He does not fly, 
but appears to tread the air across the 
space.) 

[ Vanish Azrael. 

(Dr. Thorne stands alone in the gloom. 
His eyes are fixed upon the spot where the 



138 WITHIN THE GATES 

Angel disappeared. A low, rushing sound, 
as of water, can now he heard.) 

Dr. Thorne {shudders; speaks). It 
seems like an underground river. Horrible ! 
(Calls.) Azrael ! Tell me thine errand — 
in this fearful place ! 

(Azrael neither replies nor appears. It 
grows very dark. The perspective of the 
Heavenly City fades. The rushing of the 
river can be heard. Now, through the un- 
earthly gloom, upon the hither side of the 
gulf, slowly grow to form the outlines of a 
Woman. She stretches her arms out with 
the motion of one feeling her way. She 
moves with difficulty, tripping sometimes, 
but regaining her footing bravely. Her 
robe is light. Her face cannot be recog- 
nized.) 

Dr. Thorne (on whose sensitive counte- 
nance falls the only light in the scene, shows 
an unaccountable emotion. He murmurs). 
It is a woman — alone — exhausted . . . 
and a stranger. As I serve her, so may 



WITHIN THE GATES 139 

God send some soul of fire and snow to 
serve my dear wife — in her hour of mortal 
need ! (He advances towards the woman 
with a chivalrous sympathy,) 

(The Woman moves on steadily ; weak- 
ens ; reels, but holds her ground. It can 
now be seen that her eyes are closed. She 
falls. She does not cry out.) 

Dr. Thorne. How brave you are ! Keep 
courage. (Catches her before she touches 
the ground. She lies in his arms in a 
faint or collapse.) 

(Dr. Thorne carries her along midway 
of the scene.) 

(It lightens slowly. As it does so, it can 
be seen that the woman is young and fair, 
and fine of nature. Her robe is of daz- 
zling white ; it has a surface like that of 
satin-finished gauze, which reflects all the 
light there is. Her long, dark hair is dis- 
ordered, and falls about her. She is pale. 
Her eyes do not open. She lies helplessly 
in his arms.) 



140 WITHIN THE GATES 

(Dr. Thorne lays her gently against 
the trunk of a dead tree, which has fallen 
across a hollow in the cliff, and which rests 
so as to support the woman. He seats 
himself beside her ; bends to examine her 
face.) 

Dr. Thorne {recognizes the face of the 
woman ; cries in a voice that rings through 
the hills). Helen ! 

The Echo {takes up the cry). Helen ! 

Helen Thorne {is half-conscious and 
confused ; does not open her eyes ; mur- 
murs). Will it last long? 

Dr. Thorne {clasps her reverently. As 
his arms touch her, they can be seen to 
tremble. He moans). My — poor — wife ! 

Helen Thorne {still lying with closed 
eyes ; murmurs, but more distinctly). I 
said I would die two deaths for him. . . . 
Are they over, yet ? ... if that would help 
him any . . . where he had gone. {Opens 
her eyes, but they see nothing. Dreamily 
and solemnly, as if repeating a familiar 



WITHIN THE GATES 141 

prayer, she speaks softly.) Great God ! I 
will die ten deaths for him ... and count 
myself a happy woman ... if that will 
make it any easier for him. 

Dr. Thorne {groaning, puts his wife 
gently from him., as if she were a being too 
sacred for his touch. Turns his face from 
her ; speaks). I am not fit ! ... I dare 
not touch her ! 

Helen Thorne (praying). Dear Lord ! 
I would die for him ... as Thou didst die 
for us. . . . If that could be . . . Dear 
Lord! 

Dr. Thorne (utterly broken). I am a 
sinful man, God ! (Removes from her, 
and stands with his face in his hands.) 

Helen Thorne (recovering full con- 
sciousness, and with it sudden strength, 
lifts herself to a sitting posture; looks 
about her ; half rises. Suddenly she re- 
cognizes her husband, where he stands 
aloof. She cries plaintively). Esmerald? 
— Isn't it over yet? Esmerald! Have 



142 WITHIN THE GATES 

you forgotten me ? Don't you care for me 
any more ? . . . (piteously). Oh, Death ! I 
did not think that thou wouldst crucify me 
... so ! 

{Sudden darkness falls. When it passes, 
the gulf the dark mountain, the under- 
ground river, the ravines are gone. Slow 
and sweet light returns softly. It is the 
setting of the sun. The perspective of the 
Heavenly City and spirits are as before. 
The grim scenery surrounding the mouth 
of the River of Death has given place to a 
fair meadow, sunny and open. Some of 
the boulders remain, and the path which 
cut through the ravine now runs across 
the field. Clumps of trees and thick shrubs 
break the space between the foreground 
and the distant spirits, and the path turns 
a curve through a thicket of roses. Lilies 
as before grow higher than any other 
flowers, and nearer to the eye.) 

Helen Thorne [stands, tall and glori- 
ous. Faint color has returned to her pale 



WITHIN THE GATES 143 

face. Her expression is radiant She 
looks downward and stretches down her 
hands ; speaks, very softly). Dear ! 

Dr. Thorne (prostrate at his wife's feet, 
speaks). Forgive ! Forgive me, Helen. 

(Helen Thorne smiles divinely. Stoops 
to lift him up.) 

(Dr. Thorne resists her still, and, fallen 
at her feet, he draws the hem of her robe 
slowly to his lips. Then he lays his cheek 
upon her feet before he reverently kisses 
them.) 

Dr. Thorne. I said ... oh, I have 
broken my heart for what I said ... to 
you! 

Helen Thorne (reaches down her beau- 
tiful arms to him. Draws him up). 
Why, my poor Love ! My dear Love ! Did 
you think I would remember that f 

(Dr. Thorne arises. Holds out his 
shaking arms ; does not speak.) 

(Helen Thorne in silence creeps to 
him, not royally, like a wife who was 



144 WITHIN THE GATES 

wronged ; but like the sweetest woman in 
the world, who loves him because she can- 
not help it, and would not if she could. 
Her face falls upon his breast.) 

(Dr. Thorne, as if she were a goddess, 
still not daring to caress her, lays his cheek 
upon her soft hair. Before her face, but 
not touching it, he delicately curves his 
hand as if he enclosed a sacred flame from 
the rude air.) 

Helen Thorne {lifts her face to his. 
Her eyes, all womanly, turn to him in 
Paradise as they did on earth. She 
speaks softly). I am in Heaven . . . after 
all ! 

Dr. Thorne. And I have never been 
there . . . until now ! {He clasps her 
slowly to his heart ; turns her face back 
upon his arm and reverently looks at it ; 
scans it adoringly ; humbly crying.) 
Helen ! Helen ! 

(Dr. Thorne kisses his wife's brow — 
eyes — cheek — and then her lips. Sud- 



WITHIN THE GATES 145 

denly, around the curve in the path where 
the thicket of roses blossoms, running 
rapidly,) 

Enter Laddie (carrying a stalk of the 
white lilies. He cries). Papa ! Papa ! 
I 've lost you, Papa ! ( The child runs 
down the path. Closely following 
him, fair and gentle, brightly smil- 
ing,) 
Enter Mrs. Fayth. (She draws back 
quickly ; utters an inarticulate excla- 
mation ; extends her hands in an im- 
pulsive gesture of delight. But she 
withdraws and puts her finger on her 
lips. She retreats without speaking.) 
(Mrs. Fayth, hidden for a moment be- 
hind the thicket of roses, reappears beyond 
with the other spirits. The group of 
spirits stirs upward in the bright scenery.) 
(Dr. Thorne and his Wife, having seen 
or heard nothing, still stand rapt, embra- 
cing solemnly.) 

Laddie (stops on the path, irresolute. 



V 



146 WITHIN THE GATES 

Frowns a little in pretty, childish perplex- 
ity ; makes as if he would go bach ; looks 
at the two again. Then suddenly darts 
forward ; cries). Why, that 's my Mamma ! 
{Springs to her ; clutches at her white 
robe, pulls at her hand.) 

Helen Thorne {recognizes the child in- 
stantly, despite his larger stature; she 
cries out). Why, my little boy ! Mother's 
baby boy ! Oh ! you again, . . . you, too ! 
My little, little boy. ( Catches him to her ; 
kisses him wildly ; holds him, and releases 
him, and holds him again. Murmurs 
half -intelligible words brokenly.) Mo- 
ther's baby ! . . . Mother's beauty ! . . . 
Oh, mamma missed you, sonny-boy — 

(Dr. Thorne does not speak. His face 
is shining. He holds his wife within his 
arms as if he feared to lose her if he loos- 
ened them.) 

(The Child, laughing softly, fondles 
his mother. The three stand clinging to- 
gether rapturously.) 



WITHIN THE GATES 147 

Voices {from beyond the rose thicket 
chant). 

" As it was in the beginning, is now, 
And ever shall be, 
World without end. Amen." 

(Chorus of spirits from the region of 
the Temple on the Heavenly Hill very 
softly sing.) 

" O Paradise ! O Paradise ! 
The world is growing old. 
Who would not see that heavenly land, 
Where love is never cold ? " . . . 

(As they sing, the fair country brightens 
subtly, and all the heavenly scene is radi- 
ant. The moving groups of spirits seem 
to be joining in the song.) 

(Dr. Thorne and his Wife, turning, 
look into one another's faces. They do 
not speak.) 

(Now, delicately, it shall be seen to 
darken on the bright land, and a holy 
half-light touches every outline.) 

(The Child leaves his parents. He walks 
a few steps away, shading his eyes with 



148 WITHIN THE GATES 

one hand, as if he saw invisible glory ; in 
the other hand he carries the annunciation 
lily.) 

{ Vaguely at first, then more definitely ; 
slowly and solemnly,) 

Enter JESUS the CHRIST. 

{The Sacred Figure advances towards 
the Man and Woman, who are unconscious 
of the approach. Its hands are stretched 
in benediction. It stands for a moment, 
mutely, and unseen by them.) 

(The Boy runs towards it fearlessly ; 
seats himself upon the meadow-grass at 
the feet of the Figure.) 

{The Sacred Figure stirs towards the 
child. All the light in the scene now falls 
from the Figure.) 

{The Man, the Woman, and the Child 
receive its full effulgence.) 

Voices from Beyond {sing). 

" Where loyal hearts and true 
Stand ever in the light, 
Enraptured through and through " — 



WITHIN THE GATES 149 

( The Man and the Woman now perceive 
the Sacred Figure. They fall to their 
knees. The man's arm still encircles his 
wife. They bow their heads before the 
Divine Presence.) 

(The Child, with the lifted lily, remains 
at the feet of the Christ.) 

Voices from Beyond (repeat). 

" Enraptured through and through, 
In God's most holy sight." 

(The Sacred Figure dims and slowly 
fades. With it disappears the stalk of 
annunciation lilies. The light returns 
softly upon the celestial scenery.) 

(The Sacred Figure vanishes.) 

(The Man, the Woman, and Child stay 
gazing after it.) 

(Now a mist breathes upon the Heavenly 
City and the sunny country. All the out- 
lines of the happy scenery blur and faint.) 

( The groups of spirits grow dim.) 

(Distant music softly sustains the strains 
of the song ; but without words.) 



150 WITHIN THE GATES 

(And now the golden mist slowly en- 
velops the Man, the Woman, and the Child, 
who remain for a moment before the eyes 
— a vision — solemn, tender, and half 
unreal.) 

(The music continues very faintly. The 
strain slowly ceases.) 

(TJie mist dulls, deepens, and thickens, 
till it rolls like an impenetrable curtain 
before the vanished scene.) 

End of the Drama. 



Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A. 



NOV U 1901 



OCT 24 1901 



